The Madness Returns
by Hitomi Zotz
Summary: Sequel to Undead Madness. Sarah Grey find herself dragged back into the World of Darkness because the Kindred are convinced she knows something about the antediluvians. She remains haunted by Malkav's voice despite being mortal and has visions of four ancients sealed in a forgotten city. Can she and allies old and new solve the mystery before others do and Gehenna comes upon them?
1. Prologue

_Honestly I wasn't sure I was going to do this, as some of you know I initially did and then changed my mind but then **zXAmeliaXz**_ _u/5887836/ mentioned it to me and the idea was born anew. So many thanks zXAmeliaXz! I ended up replaying the game and I couldn't resist coming back to Sarah/Ariadne's story. I'm trying to bring in some of the greater mythros of the Vampire Masquerade world and have used the White Wolf wiki for research. Apologies well in advance for any errors and inaccuracies, both intentional and unintentional._

 _As always please read and review!_

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Once upon a time a man, Caine, murdered his brother in a jealous rage because sometimes locking your brother in the closet and breaking his favourite toys just isn't enough vengeance. The man was then cast out of paradise for his sins and marked for all eternity as being neither man nor demon but a dark combination of both. Out in the deserts he met the first woman, Lilith, who let him partake of her blood, magic, knowledge and love. He was then visited by four angels, each offering him a chance to repent but he turned them away because the dark side's always more fun. With each angel he turned away another aspect of his curse was added- a weakness to the flames, a vulnerability to the fire in the sky, the eternal hunger for the blood and finally, damnation from the light. After this the Disciplines, gifts of Lilith, became Caine's strengths and he left Lilith because her curse was loneliness and every good story needs heartache, right?

Eventually, after much wandering, Cain found himself in the First City amongst men and in awe of his powers the king surrendered his throne to Caine. That king soon became Caine's first Childe- Enoch- and the city was named after him, the City of Enoch, very original. One wonders why it wasn't called that when Enoch was king but anyway, don't let logic get in the way of a good story. Next Irad was turned because Enoch was lonely, then Zillah because Caine was horny. Zillah refused Caine until a Crone helped him use the gift of blood bond to bind Zillah to him, of course she also blood bonded Caine to herself. Eventually the blood bond faded and Caine staked her but she might reappear because no one really knows who or what she was to begin with but she was magic and magic explains everything anyway.

So, Enoch, Irad, and Zillah were the Second Generation of Kindred who embraced the Third Generation until Caine realised that numerous bloodthirsty vampires might be a problem and declared there be no more. This was fine until the deluge came and many of the vampires were wiped out save some antediluvians. With no Kine to feed on they survived by drinking each other's vitae. They sought out Caine after the flood but he rejected them so they killed Enoch, Irad, and Zillah in their anger or possibly for power, if they diablerised them, that is drank of their blood, they absorbed their power.

Caine found out about the death of his children and went after the antediluvians finding them in the Second City (yes that's the name they stuck with for that city). In this city he found them creating the Fourth Generation and he cursed them with what would come to be known as clan weaknesses. The city was eventually destroyed and the clan leaders, the Third Generation antediluvians faded into legend. What followed was Jyhad, the eternal struggle between the antediluvians and the elders of the Fourth Generation, their former closest and oldest children known as Methuselahs. As personal as the struggle is however the battle is much wider pulling in pawns unwitting, unwilling and unknowing- those of the Camarilla who deny the very existence of Caine, antediluvians and Jyhad; the Sabbat who think themselves wise to the game and the would be army of Caine; the Anarchs who claim to be indifferent and apart from it all and, of course, little old me.

Jyhad isn't just a game between Methuselahs and antediluvians but between antedilvuians and Caine as well. The antedilvuains are the hated and beloved founders of the thirteen clans who betrayed their sires earning Caine's eternal wrath and were in turn betrayed by their own offspring. Now they play a dangerous game of treachery and survival and the game only grows as new alliances and rivalries join the board. Once, when Gehenna was on everyone's lips as Thin-Bloods and mysterious sarcophaguses joined the game, the Methuselahs made their move in the form of ur-Shulgi, the burned child. The antedilvuains answered with Malkav making their move in the form of me, myselves and us.

My name is Sarah Grey, once I was a human turning mad, then I became Ariadne, daughter of three, turned against the righteous Camarilla laws by Malkavian and Toreador alike to rise in the Malkavian clan. A Toreador, Alex, meant to make me Kindred but a Malkavian, Xander, did instead. Xander then had a Malkavian, Moon Boy, framed for the deed and slaughtered by the Camarilla to whom's whose mercy I was abandoned. A lost princess taken in by a golden haired prince it sounds sweet but this is no fairytale, this is a horror story. The prince made a slave of the mad daughter and sent her on missions he meant to see her swiftly destroyed but the princess found salvation with the greatest pretenders of all- the Toreadors. In the land of make belief, tinsel and despair she found sanctuary with the poets and artists and love with the Baron of the land, Isaac. There Ariadne also reunited with Alex only to find him one half of Xander, Alexander, the Malkavian who thought himself a Toreador.

A long story followed because when the elders make a move in Jyhad it has to be grand, impressive like fireworks but long like a school lesson. In the end Malkav made Ariadne into Sarah Grey once more as a solution to his desire to destroy her and all things Malkavian. Happy ever, right? Wrong.

See Sarah Grey, that's me now and then, was mad to begin with and being Malkavian helped that, it controlled it but without the clan's web to help restrain the voices Sarah went madder than Ariadne could. Worse, Sarah was Kine now and she knew things, things that ought only be known to Kindred, she was a living, breathing violation of the Camarilla laws. Also, she, I (it's hard to tell sometimes) had been seen defeating a Methuselah and she had been touched by Malkav. Too many hands in too many pots Sarah had. Couldn't really believe the monsters of the night would just leave us alone.

Well they didn't. Daddy got tired of my madness and had me sent away to the mad house in the hills, out of sight, out of mind. Could scream all I wanted there, got mind numbing injections for my troubles, body numb, limp, fluffy and heavy, ripe for violation by the staff. Nothing ever truly silenced him though. See when Malkav cast out the immortality and the death he forgot to cast out himself too and free Sarah from the web. Now Sarah wanders the maze of madness Ariadne did but she cannot navigate it the way Ariadne could. I gave up in the mad house, sweaty hands got too familiar on the flesh and I could not protest. Ariadne would have chopped off those hands. Ariadne would have ripped out their throats too and dined on their blood. My teeth weren't strong enough and when I tried to use them they only got broke.

I thought this would be the worst of it and I prepared to submit to the madness but on the eve of my would be self lobotomy, with a pocket knife stolen from James' pants when they were down and he was otherwise occupied, they came. The bogeymen to the monsters, the self-made demons of the darkness, I had once called them Sabbat. They massacred staff and patients alike, burned the asylum to the ground and spared only one- Sarah Grey. At her lips the poisonous blood was pressed and down her throat it was forced again and again until Sarah Grey was forgotten again.

I don't know who I am now rotting in chains in a room I cannot make out for the shadows. I know only delirium, a twisted love for a monster who calls himself Valyrion, a Tzimisce. I had known the cruel crafters hands treating my flesh like clay before, or rather Ariadne had, and I thought I knew the worst of them but that was wrong. There was worse than fearing and hating them, there was loving them. Loving the beast as he made me urinate in terror, loving him as he twisted my insides purely for his pleasure, begging him for more even as I cried and wanted to plead for him to stop, and loving him as he thought up new creative ways to terrorise me all in a futile act to bring some forgotten truth of ancients and their secrets out of me. No, nothing is worse than being forced to love the one who tortures you.


	2. Chapter 1- Servitude

_Wow I just could not stop writing this! I've missed this world! Warning for the darkness, I read up about Tzimisce and wow they've got some very twisted tales about those guys so it's nothing that's not already in the lore. Honestly I find the White Wolf wiki to be an addiction I wish they'd make more games or write some books the stories they have for their characters and lore are fascinating! Anyway, please read and review as always!_

* * *

With the pain came the pleasure or was it with the pleasure came the pain? It was orgasmic but against my will, I could no more silence my screams than I could free my bonds. Invisible bonds now, chains fastened from droplets of blood, my blood and his. Master, captor, guardian, guard, lover, violator, my sun, my life, my suffering, my death, he was all these things and more. When once I had a name now I knew only his- Valyrion. He was the only named voice in my head but not the only one. The dominant voice, the overpowering presence, the only one I had to listen to. I wanted deeply to obey him if only to find some relief from the pain but I could not and it drove me to a fresh level of burning, red madness. He wanted knowledge I could not unlock, secrets I could not tell and locations I could not give. He felt it was all within me and I felt it too but try as we both might to tear my mind apart for the yolk of knowledge within we could not get at it. He thought with my mortality that the web was gone and there was no more spider to protect the rambling minds but he was wrong, the spider had cast off the binds of clan and death but he had forgotten to cast out himself and so there he remained, prisoner and guard to my labyrinth of memories, secrets and knowledge.

"Sascha is coming my worthless dog," the master purred at me. Funny but I could not recall myself having a tail and pointed ears, had master taken them from me?

I was equally honoured and horrified to be in his presence once more. Was I not unworthy of it by now? I shuddered as my eyes rolled up to his disturbingly beautiful form. He was long beyond a human facade, far more wondrous and desirable than their flawed meaty forms, our forms, mustn't forget we're mortal now. He was godlike and devil like all at once, desirable and terrifying. It hurt to look on him and I felt my sore bowels shudder and bleed warm again. It was a familiar experience now, the only warmth my broken flesh felt anymore was that of my own urine and blood staining my bruised legs anew.

"The seeker," I whispered before I could stop myself.

I earned a deserved steel capped toe to the face for my outspokenness. I tasted blood upon my lip, sour, weak and thick as it congealed quickly. I did not think I had much vitae left to spare.

"How is that you still have something in that rotting mind of yours telling you things you shouldn't know?" he demanded.

"The words come to my mind, they are just thoughts," I retorted weakly.

"But not your thoughts," he said in a cold and curious manner. His yellow eyes met my gaze and I trembled at the intensity of their predatory stare.

"I have no thoughts, no nothing, everything is master's," I babbled hastily.

"Well if your thoughts are actually my thoughts I deserve to know them," he countered as his thin, cool fingers reached out to touch at my bloody scalp.

There was a sharp flash of pain as I felt my skull press down tightly against my brain. My eyes squeezed tightly shut and I screamed as my legs kicked out behind involuntarily as I felt the flesh about my brain wither as if it was being dried out. "The withering will be a shared fate on the final nights," I mused.

"Only for those foolish enough to go against the Dark Father but that is not the thought I wish you to tell me mad whore. Sascha will get the knowledge from you when he comes, the truth of the antediluvians; we will find these cowards and burn them where they sleep. Perhaps I will let you burn with Malkav, after we have shaped you both beyond recognition of course. His sins are many and he will answer for all of them, it is a punishment that will take time."

"I don't know where he is," I murmured wearily, "I am human, I don't know of any of this anymore." _Liar, liar, who will burn in the red woods for her false tongue?_

I found myself flung back onto the floor once wood it was now made of a flesh stretched and thinned so as to resemble a carpet of skin. My eyes gazed up at beams made from bones and lights that were flames burning in not wax holdings but many blinking eyeballs. The pain began from below and I sought to clench my legs closed and begged. "NO! NO!" It was to no avail, begging is a sweet song on Tzimisces' mutated ears and something they seek to hear. It was my master's touch though and I could not resist finding a sick enjoyment in it even as I hated it.

"I will let you enjoy it, perhaps in your joy you will confess your sins with Malkav," the master murmured. His voice seemed to come from all around me and within me, it was soft, seducing and irresistible and yet I had nothing to offer it. Shame, shame! I must hurt for failing master.

"Hurt then," he said cruelly as his voice lost its deceptive seduction and took on a tone of hardened hate.

"Why don't you hurt instead?" a male's voice quipped sardonically.

"Did you really need to say that?" another male remarked in a dry manner, his voice deeper than the other's.

"Well it makes for a good entrance," came the answer. These voices sounded real, we had intruders!

"Right because the usage of your presence to make them bow to you downstairs and allow you to blow their brains out wasn't nearly theatrical enough, never mind the frigging wolf tearing them to shreds."

Voices, so many strange and yet familiar voices to intrude upon the deserved suffering. I wanted to look but I couldn't, I couldn't move.

"The wolf ruined it," the first male remarked woefully.

"I made it quicker," a third's voice commented in an irritated manner.

"Who the hell are you?" master demanded in outrage as much as shock.

Only then did I finally become aware of the delightful music downstairs, the chorus of gunfire and explosives, the wild cheer of battle hungry vampires bringing destruction and death to those who thought themselves masters of it. Oh what a delicious irony. I realised then what this had to mean for Valyrion. I tried to scramble to my feet to shield him but my body would not comply and instead I found myself flinging my body down before his feet.

"Oh shit is that her?" the first male's voice again only it had lost its bravado. "Fucking Tzimisce!"

There was a painful, golden glow just to my left and I found myself unable to resist looking at it. There was a form beneath the light, tall and male, and it wanted me to fear it, it wanted us all quaking and screaming in fear and I found myself obeying.

"Your presence is nothing to me Toreador mutt!" master screamed.

"Mutt?" The golden light dimmed slightly and I made out an attractive male with ebony black hair and marble white skin looking at my master with both offence and disgust. "I am a purebred," he snapped angrily.

"Fuck Kent this is not the time," his companion, the owner of the second voice, grumbled. A mortal, a ghoul, I sensed the similarity to myself in him the moment I looked his way. There was more too but it was lost to the fog I had banished all my personas and memories to. Enduring the love for a Tzimisce was not possible if one burdened themselves with an identity. The ghoul was holding a shotgun which he aimed and fired quickly.

BANG!

"Master!" I squealed in alarm as my master flinched back from the bullet. He was fine though, just angry.

"Let bugs tear your mortal flesh from your bones for that!" master yelled at the ghoul in hate.

I watched as the many beetles and scarabs and cockroaches came forth from the master's grey, cold hand as he stretched it out to the ghoul. I shuddered, knowing the infliction the man was about to endure, the pain of many, many tiny teeth gnashing at your flesh rapidly like dogs at a bone. He deserved it though; he had tried to hurt the master.

"Ah shit," the man grumbled, only annoyed at his peril rather than afraid, "I hate these disciplines."

BANG! BANG! BANG! The dark haired male moved in a blur, too fast for master to dodge all of his shots. I screamed again and made to block my master. I made it only halfway up before a bullet grazed my left leg and sent me crashing to the floor again.

"Ariadne!" The blur halted and looked at me in horror. "Damn it stay down kid!"

Master took his sudden advantage and suddenly the Toreador was trembling as his eyes flashed red and his fangs poked down from his upper lip against his control. "Frenzy," the master ordered in a deep voice.

BANG! BANG! BANG! The ghoul tried to shoot back at the stream of bugs. The dark haired male's head turned in his direction sharply and he let out a hiss. "Kent don't even fucking think it," the ghoul said warily as he hastened back from the insects. "Scholar are you going to do anything?" he demanded impatiently.

The third male let out a heavy, sardonic sigh and moved just before the dark haired male could. He caught him from behind, restraining him back as he snapped out at the ghoul angrily. Master laughed in mockery and victory.

"I don't know how you three fools got up here but you will not leave," master murmured.

They were to be his last words, had I known that I might have cherished them better. "It's a charade," I whispered too late as I turned up to master one last time. Two forms materialised from behind him without warning, one pulling the other. The claws were about my master's head before he could resist and they tore it asunder.

My gaze turned red as I felt my heart break with master's head. I was screaming, howling and crying, the end had come and I could see no future. At some point the red gave way to black and then the nothingness.

* * *

"You could have kept him existing long enough for us to question him." It was the sardonic voice of the third man that drew me from a suffocating oblivion of darkness and nightmares, of burning and pain and loss.

"Look at what he did to my sister, if it was your sister would you have done any different?" That snarled voice I knew it, oh God I knew it. No, no familiarity, no identity, you will only lose it, you can only lose it. You knew master and you lost him. Know no one else, lose no one else!

"Well that's my point," the sarcastic one retorted calmly, "in the greater scheme of Tzimisce he didn't do anything that cannot be undone in time."

"That's true," that was the voice of the dark haired male; "he didn't mutate her. Don't give me that look Rob, I'm not downplaying the damage like Beckett, I'm just saying, it's not like them to not mutate their victims."

"Waiting for Sascha, waiting for Sascha, Sascha is the best moulder, Sascha shapes the mind to make the tongue sing songs they want to hear." That was my voice, quiet and hoarse from repeated screams.

"Hey crazy cat," the gentle voice of the ghoul. He put himself in my vision and I shrank back. Tender, olive green eyes that were usually full of a tired apathy save for me, raven black hair, once slicked back like oil and shaved at the sides, he had let it grow, and a face not pale in death but rather from a lack of sunlight, it wasn't the sweet porcelain of Snow White's but rather that shade mortals bear that is so translucent even their own kind consider them sickly when they are well. "I know, you don't remember me, yet," he addressed me kindly as if I were a child. "That's the blood fever but it'll pass, I promise."

Another jerked the ghoul back suddenly and a new face was pressed close against mine. From behind a pair of deceptive glasses a curious gaze glowered at me. The glasses were designed to resemble shades so that none would know unless they looked too closely that it was the eyes that burned orange and not the tint of glass and if one got that close they most likely wouldn't live to tell about it so there was no one danger for this creature of his animalism being revealed. "Sheep's clothing does not suit you," I murmured mockingly.

"What the hell are you doing?" the ghoul demanded angrily.

"You said Sascha," this new figure addressed me sharply, emphasising each word as if I were slow or perhaps partially deaf. I thought of when my ears had been filled with blood and the drums in them made to hammer until it was all I heard and I wondered if perhaps I was hard of hearing now.

"Does that mean something to you Beckett?" Second speaker, pretty poet, he was near.

Too many voices, too many monsters, I didn't want anymore. I shrank back from them all until my back met wood and then I cried. My nailess fingers met the edges of a blanket and I drew it up and over me as I shook. _Yes, hide under the blankie, a blankie is the best armour against the bogeymen_. Oh shit, not that voice again, one of the many, the leader of the legion, a voice that had its own identity. No, only master had the identity! I let out a sob, master was gone, I was alone to the monsters and the voices, now everything would roam free without master.

"Leave her alone," I heard the ghoul compel angrily.

"I know of a Tzimisce called Sascha," Beckett confessed grimly, "more foul than the rest hard as that is to believe. He thinks himself a seeker of knowledge but he tends to destroy it in his efforts to seek it."

"Knowledge like Ariadne would have?" the poet quipped.

"Sarah," the one who claimed to be brother snarled, "her name is Sarah."

I lowered the blanket just an inch at this and peered out fearfully to the end of the bed I occupied. They were all gathered there, a motley collection of vampires all staring back at me. The one who would be brother stood vicious faced, a grey eyed redhead he had given into the beast many times and yet to the chagrin of the scholar he remained void of the beast's marks. He stood with a deceptively vulnerable looking female at his side. She was redheaded and grey eyed too not like brother but perhaps a little like another female lost in my mind, only tough and cute while the other was charming and sexy, and her red hair was natural, a brownish redhead whilst the other had locks dyed a blazing crimson. This one folded her arms and frowned at me, biting down on her plump lips slightly with her fangs. There would be no woman's tenderness in this one. "Damned sails," I murmured.

She arched an eyebrow at that and I heard the poet mutter a curse. "Oh of course," he grumbled sardonically, "I put up with you for the longest but you remember Damsel first."

I sank back against the headboard and shook my head again. "Master's gone, I am lost again."

"She's not going to make much sense for a while," the ghoul murmured.

"When the hell did she ever make sense?" the poet was quick to comment.

"Look at her skin," the ghoul continued, "she's flushed, she's full of that fuck's blood. It's going to be tough waiting on it getting out of her system."

"How long do we have to wait for that?" the poet queried tiredly.

"A few weeks," the ghoul answered calmly, "and it's going to messy so you'll probably want to keep your sensitive Toreador ass away for a while."

"I'm sure I can handle it," the poet retorted heatedly.

"I doubt that," the ghoul answered as he glanced over at him warningly, "and even if you could she shouldn't have to put up with you watching. That goes for everyone really; she'll be going through enough without having an audience."

"Oh and you'll help will you?" brother snapped angrily as he unfolded his arms and glowered over at the ghoul. "What gives you the right? I'm her brother."

"Raise your hands if you have any experience with a ghoul going through withdrawal symptoms," the ghoul answered dryly. He raised his own hand and glanced about the room, frowning when the poet raised his hand and gave him a smug smile.

"Patty cake, patty cake baker's man," I murmured.

The poet frowned over at me. "Yeah, Patty," he said frostily, "I left her withdrawing too many times."

"Yeah you were kind of an asshole to do that," Damsel scolded him.

"I know," he retorted as he turned a wilting grey gaze on her.

"To continue," the ghoul interrupted bluntly, "keep your hand raised if you know how bad it really gets. If you've seen the ghoul past the shivering and the frenzying and the violence, if you've seen them shitting and vomiting all at once and without control, crying in their own mess as they suffer migraines and chest pains and a loss of all their senses."

"Now wait a minute," the poet snarled as he dropped his hand, "don't pretend Isaac ever let you get that way Romero, he wouldn't have."

"The Baron," I mused as I felt a shudder run through me, "the thorny rose, and the grave guard."

The ghoul glanced at me hesitantly before nodding and looking back to the poet. "He didn't, I know other ghouls, ones whose masters can show a lot of cruelty when they're disappointed."

"Fleet footed ghoul," I mused. Words with barely a flicker of an image- a memory, a message? I didn't know, I didn't like it, I wanted master's voice back, master kept most of the other voices quiet until he wanted them shouting then he had the roaring all at once all in an effort to find the one who told the truth, the oracle amongst the sirens.

"How is it that you still have foresight as a mortal?" the grave guard demanded in annoyance.

"Fleet footed ghoul," the poet mused, "oh shit, Mercurio, you know him? Does Isaac know you know him?"

Romero looked uncomfortable for a moment before he shrugged. "Not the point I'm trying to make. The point I'm trying to make is it's going to get ugly and you don't like ugly Kent and the rest of you might be able to stand it but that's not fair to her. Especially you Rob, you're her brother, would you want her to see you in that state?"

"Alright but I'm not going far," Rob grunted, ever the grudging Gangrel.

Damsel reached up a hand to his muscular right arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. Oh what had we missed in the weeks of slavery and mortality? "Army beauty and the beast," I murmured.

"Won't she need some assistance?" the scholar quipped delicately.

Romero nodded. "In time, when enough blood has been flushed out of her system she'll need medication for a start."

"And what of the blood?" the sharp toothed scholar pried. "We can all smell it, it's mostly Tzimisce, she doesn't have much of her own left. Will she survive this?"

"I can't know that," Romero admitted grimly.

"Perhaps some of that blood will need replenished," Beckett replied calmly.

"Not by you," Rob growled out.

"Look let's not discuss that unless we have to," the poet interrupted as he waved his hands slightly at the group.

"You mean until he gets here," Rob grumbled, "well he's not doing it either."

"I didn't say that," the poet protested with a defensive scowl.

"You didn't have to," Rob retorted heatedly.

I sank back against the bed head. My head throbbed and all I could think of was my fallen master, I wanted to fall with him but I resisted. I could not bear the voices anymore though and so I closed my eyes and welcomed the exhaustion that overcame me. Little did I know the weeks of agony I was now in for.

* * *

A fresh pang of agony stung through my abdomen and I doubled over with another screech of pain and humiliation. My bowels gave way against my control and I started to cry, I didn't think I would have to endure this torture again. Master had been fond of forcing this humility upon me if only to remind me that he controlled every aspect of me.

How many days now had I suffered without master? How many with? I would have lost track if the others did not. Kent grumbled about months, Damsel chided him for exaggerating and Romero scolded and said it had been two weeks. When had that been though? When had we reached two?

"There now crazy cat," Romero murmured soothingly as I collapsed against him in my exhaustion.

I let out another wince as my face screwed up in pain and I soiled myself anew. My skin was soaked in a cold sweat and coated in goose bumps and all my limbs felt heavy and sore but nothing was worse than the burning sensation in my waist.

"We'll clean it up," Romero assured, "just breathe through it."

How many times now had he cleaned me? How often I had sat at his mercy letting him wash and dress me like a doll? How many clothes and sheets had I ruined now? I trembled as the pain went another direction and broke from the ghoul to vomit violently upon myself. The vomit was looking more golden now with only a few traces of pink. It was less blood now and just stomach acid for there was certainly no food to be brought up.

"I want to die," I choked out, "God I want the embrace of Thanatos, no more of this!"

"I know," Romero remarked sombrely as he pushed my tangled hair back from my sweaty face and gave me a serious stare. "And you'll want that for a while yet but I'll get you through it, I promise."

"Why?" I demanded weakly as my eyes burned in a failed effort to produce tears.

"Well," he bowed his head slightly and I saw his neck turn pink, "I guess because I love you crazy cat. Maybe that's just the Baron's blood getting to me, hell if I know, but it is what it is."

"Love is twisted," I hissed out, "I loved the master, even as he warped my mind I begged for more. I don't want any more love."

"I understand that but it's not always like that. You loved Rob too and you love him still, I know that, and there's nothing twisted about that love, he's your brother. Anyway, sit tight, I'll tell Kent to get another bath ready."

"The water stings," I whimpered. It was true, so many wounds were still raw, and my healing was sluggish without the master's blood. So many things master had done for me and to me, kept me healing from his abuses with the blood, kept me strong with it and kept me close.

"I know that too, I'll tell him not to make it too hot." Romero stood up and left the room. Room, prison, gilded prison? _Four walls, how boring, imagine a hexagonal prison, more walls to look at, at least_. Shut up voice. _He didn't lock the door, creep through the keyhole Alice, see the Wonderland they keep from you_. No, he didn't lock the door because I was too weak to run and had nowhere to run to anyway.

Ten minutes later he was back, regarding me warmly with his olive eyes as he approached me slowly. "Anymore mess?" he queried calmly.

I shook my head.

"That's good," he assured me as he pressed the back of his large hand against my brow. "That fever however is not. We've really got to burn that out of you."

"No hot bath," I begged, "it burns down there, the bleeding doesn't stop down there."

"I know." He picked me up with ease, a tired sack of bones in his arms, and carried me from the room and to a narrow hallway where an impatient poet stood drumming his foot against the floor at an unnatural speed. The blur of the foot made me nauseous but I resisted vomiting again.

The poet's dove grey eyes went wide at the sight of me and he wrinkled his nose in revulsion. "How...how is she?" he stammered as he lost his composure.

"Exactly how she seems," Romero grumbled.

"She's still bleeding," the poet observed.

I felt Romero nod as we reached the poet and he stopped, waiting for the door behind the poet to be unblocked.

"She'll bleed out," the poet murmured as a hunger flashed in his eyes.

"She might but you won't make the decision over what to do about it if she does," Romero answered. His voice was calm but we all heard the warning in his words anyway.

The poet frowned but stepped away from the door, pushing it open before he did. We entered a small, clean bathroom that was becoming as familiar to me as the bedroom. It was modest but to me as pristine and luxurious as a palace. I had spent so long lying on skin and bones that I had forgotten the touch of carpet and wood. So long was I stained in filth and blood that I did not understand cleanliness and on my first night in this room I had almost drowned in a panic of unfamiliarity in the bath.

Romero rested me on a soft, green, velvet chair that the poet had procured for me. It was ill-suited to the bathroom but gentle against my tender skin. I waited as the ghoul tugged off the jumper and the trousers I was wearing and then the undergarments before discarding them to the floor, never to be worn again. At first it had been shirts and skirts but they had been tedious to remove and not comfortable for lying in. After a time Romero had complained to Damsel to find me garments as the poet evidently couldn't choose practicality over style as it went against his nature.

"Alright kitten," Romero addressed me, deep voice still gentle, "you know how it goes now, anything you don't like you say, and when you want out you tell me."

I nodded even as I shook in his grasp and flinched and sobbed when the water burned at my wounds despite being only lukewarm. When my screams became too loud someone thought to drown them out with music. Loud, classical music at first before some female's cursing drowned out the violins and piano and then came the rock music. I had almost been soothed by the classical tunes but then the rock jostled me back to reality and pain and I screamed anew.

I heard Romero stomp towards the door and jerk it open impatiently. "Put that back on!" he roared down the halls. "It's helping her for fuck's sake!" Had he ever cursed so much before? No, the grave guardian was normally as tranquil as the dead he minded. Ah but they had not been so tranquil once.

The music was instantly changed as the dour voice of the scholar called out arrogantly to someone, "I told you it would."

As I was once again lulled to a state of stillness by violins Romero washed me of my stains as gently as he could with a cloth and a sponge. There was no soap, I could not stand the sting, only water, and only when it was ice cold and opaque with blood and shit did the bath finally end. Romero plucked me out and bundled me up in a towel of Egyptian cotton. "At least Kent got the towel right," he grumbled.

"Three named poet," I mumbled.

"That's right," Romero said confidently as he dried me off with no sign of fatigue, impatience, irritation, or disgust. "Kent Alan Ryan, a conceited, vain, self-righteous asshole but also one of your closest friends, he'll never, ever say it but he thinks of you like a sister. He lost his and I think you helped with that."

"The horse lover."

"Yeah, something like that."

"And you," I murmured, "you always stayed with me, even after the form shifting, and after the death of the immortal, always there, always the grave guard."

"Yeah, well it's always interesting with you."

There was a knock on the door and I jumped and frowned when a light trickle of urine betrayed my fear.

"What did I tell you about the sudden noises?" Romero shouted in annoyance as he glowered at the door.

"I just knocked," the poet protested indignantly, "how else should one announce their presence at a door?"

I giggled and froze up, stunned by the noise I had just made. That wasn't right, wasn't appropriate, wasn't allowed.

Romero smiled at me with delight before standing up and turning to the door. "What is it Kent?"

"Clothes," he answered bluntly, "and no, I didn't pick them so if you want to complain about them complain to Damsel. Really should too, they don't even match."

"Do I care?" Romero grumbled sarcastically as he opened the door.

Kent peered in inquisitively and I shrank back into the side of the bath from his probing grey stare. "I'd say who died and made you in charge," he commented bitingly as his stare fell on Romero, "but fuck that's all of us isn't it?"

"Damn straight," Romero retorted sternly as he accepted the bundle of clothes from the poet.

"She's still bleeding."

"Yeah I know alright," the ghoul snapped in irritation. "Is he here yet?"

"This is Kuei-jin territory," Kent answered wearily, "it's going to take time before they believe he's not invading."

"Eastern soul feasters," I murmured as I crawled along the floor, inching towards the door. "Outside the masquerade and the mirror mistress holds the crown."

Kent looked down at me with an unimpressed stare and took a step back as he realised I was almost touching his nice shiny shoes. "You know you seem crazier as a human," he informed me bluntly, "only you could manage that."

I pulled back from him, unsure what it was I had been trying to do in the first place. Was it I or them or us? "You make me nervous," I informed him coldly.

"Really?" he flustered with a frown. "I make you nervous, that's rich." Was it? Where were the coins and jewels my nerves created for him then?

"You're a vampire talking about her bleeding, do the math," Romero remarked dryly before he shut the door in the poet's face.

"That's just plain rude!" the poet shouted.

"What is decorated rude?" I pondered. "Rude with icing? Rude with fruit? Perhaps an insult delivered with almonds or chocolate chips."

"Perhaps," Romero commented dismissively before he kneeled down and started to dress me.

I winced and whimpered with every gesture and felt no better when it was done and I was back in his arms and being carried back to the room.

"Does she need anything?" Kent queried curiously as he followed like an inquisitive hound. A bloodhound perhaps.

"Could try some painkillers," Romero allowed, "but not too strong, yeah she needs them but they'll only fuck up her stomach. Maybe get some soup too, don't know how that will go but it's worth a shot."

"What kind of soup?"

"I liked chicken," I murmured softly, "I think, Sarah did anyway but I'm Sarah, yes I like chicken."

"Well chicken it is then," Kent murmured, "I can do that."

"Can you take the chicken out of it?" Romero remarked in a serious voice.

"Can you take the whole fucking point out of it you mean?" Kent retorted sarcastically.

"I'm serious," Romero retorted strictly, "she can't swallow the chicken bits."

"Shit why don't you just ask me to pull the needle outta a haystack."

"Find the beans in the ash Cinderella," I mused.

"That's Ash's nickname not mine," Kent grumbled. "Maybe the wolf can sniff the chicken out," he added sarcastically. "Leave it with me then." He departed in a hurried blur from the hall.

I do not know how long I waited for the soup. Romero helped me back into a bed already changed with new sheets and blankets and then he sat and waited with me. After a few minutes the scholar Beckett joined us.

"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," he remarked calmly, making it clear that he didn't care if we did mind, "but your brother and er...Damsel was it? Well...I'm no longer comfortable intruding upon them shall we say."

"Archaelogist, Caine seeker in the bones and sands," I replied as I studied him carefully. Dark haired again, why was it all brunettes and gingers, were blondes endangered now? "You walk with madness often for a lone wolf."

"Yes, it is becoming a rather unpleasant habit of mine," he confessed grimly.

I leaned forward and peered up at him curiously. "Do you know about dinosaurs? Dinosaurs are fun."

"I had hoped for a more stimulating conversation than that but I suppose with you any conversation will do," Beckett murmured as he looked about the room briefly before occupying a seat near the door.

"My mind hurts," I confessed, "too sore for cryptic tales. Master was a distraction from the voices." I shuddered. "Master had the only voice sometimes."

"He wasn't your master," Romero grumbled, "but we'll get to that."

"Which dinosaur do you want to know about?" Beckett remarked before I could protest.

"The ones that go Rwwoarr!" I exclaimed.

Beckett let out a tired sigh before leaning back in his chair. "Right, I suppose pointing out that we don't know what they sounded like is of no use to you."

"But they do, I've heard them," I answered proudly.

"Indeed, well I doubt you want an intellectual discussion of them, rather you are seeking a distraction I imagine."

"Yes from the widening cracks of the mind and master calling to pull me to ashes. It still bleeds and burns. I don't want dreams of master, they're sweet but disturbing, most haunting, I want to see dinosaurs in my sleep."

"Well alright there's the Tyrannosaurus Rex, an obvious one to discuss, that means tyrant lizard king although it was far from, the fourth biggest meat eater in fact."

"What are the ones in the centre of the earth?" I quipped. "That go stomp, stomp and make volcanoes?"

"I don't know if you're confusing one movie or two," Beckett answered dryly.

The door burst inwards dramatically and I jolted back with a scream of alarm.

"How many times Kent?" Romero snapped angrily as he lowered his half-raised shotgun.

Kent stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, a snarl across his features, his dark hair unusually tidy and his shirt untucked. In his other hand he clutched a polystyrene pot of what I hoped was soup and a paper bag. "Fuck you," he snarled, "seriously fuck you and fuck Chinatown."

"Always so eloquent for a Toreador," I recalled aloud.

"I went to get her medicine, place called The White Cloud, thought it would have something traditional, good for the stomach and some crazy man in there starts asking me if I'd like to collect eyeballs for him. So I use Auspex on him, guy's not even fucking human! So I quit that, headed for a pharmacy and saw a noodle shop on the way, figured they'd do soup too. Well I go in and some school girl's guarding the joint with a fucking samurai sword that she threatens me with! Seriously! She called me a demon and chased me out of the place and before anyone accuses me, I did not give anything away to her, not a damn thing! Who let's their kid out with a frigging samurai sword anyway?"

The poet hastened up to me with a scowl and thrust the tub out to me complete with a plastic spoon. "So, for all my troubles and suffering, here's your soup Mal...er...Ari...shit...Sarah, whatever you want to be called. And yes, I carefully extracted every last bit of chicken."

I accepted the tub and spoon gratefully leaving the poet to thrust the paper bag at the frowning ghoul.

"I thought you were a master at low key," the ghoul taunted.

"I am," Kent answered defensively with a glare, "it's this part of town that isn't low key."

"Sure, sure, it's everyone else not you," Romero mocked.

"Fuck you zombie boy."

"Hey Kent, you have a hair out of place," Romero answered dryly. It was enough have Kent weaving his hands through his hair frantically whilst spluttering and cursing as he pushed it down and to the left and then the right over and over in a futile effort to fix it.

"What about the flying dinosaurs?" I queried as I tugged the lid off the soup.

"Not dinosaurs strictly speaking," Beckett retorted, still calm and unflustered by Kent's dramatic entrance.

"You're no fun," I grumbled, "tell a better story."

Beckett sighed again. "Someone else said something like to me, I would say it must be the nature of your clan but you have no clan anymore. Very well, a story er..."

"Wait, you're telling stories?" Kent paused in his grooming to look at Beckett suspiciously. "And how does Once Upon A Time there was a dinosaur go?"

I giggled and smiled causing all eyes to look upon me in shock.

Kent smirked before his grey eyes flickered back to Beckett. "Who would have thought you'd get the smile?" he queried bitingly. "So come on Beckett, I want the story too," he taunted.

"I don't tell stories," Beckett retorted awkwardly.

"That's not true," Kent said, "you're always telling them, just because you think they're facts doesn't mean the rest of us agree."

"Think they're facts?" Beckett repeated coldly as his eyes flashed with a hint of anger.

"Tell the story!" I snapped impatiently before finally trying a spoonful of creamy, chicken flavoured soup. It was sore going down a throat raw from coughing and vomiting and yet a welcome treat.

"I don't know what you want," Beckett grumbled. "There were many dinosaurs once at different points, numerous species over many, many years."

"Boring," I complained, "what about Nessie?"

"Oh now really," Beckett complained.

"Don't," Kent warned him, "her Nessie collection remains in Isaac's home to this day, she takes it very, very seriously. Good question mind, hypothetically is Nessie a dinosaur?"

"Hypothetically Nessie is whatever you want," Beckett snapped, "because a bloated kelpie is just as believable as a dinosaur."

"Oh or one of Poseidon's lost horses," I suggested.

"Right, eat your soup already crazy cat," Romero mused with a shake of his head.

So I obeyed while trying with Kent to get stories of dinosaurs out of Beckett.


	3. Chapter 2- Blood

"All the blood should be out of her system," Romero announced gravely to the room. At his words I wondered again how long it had been since I had lost master. Years? Hours? Months? Weeks? Though I had tried so very hard to cling to time while I was here I had failed. I could not tell the difference between the sunlight and the street lights that tried to sneak round the edges of the heavy drapes on the windows. I was too tired and fearful to investigate beyond the bedroom or bathroom either despite everyone and every voice trying to encourage me at one point or another. These vampires had killed my master and for that I wanted to both love and loathe them. They tormented me with talk of the old mes, a vampire me and a human me, neither of whom I could properly identify with. Ariadne and Sarah, sometimes I felt certain I was one, other times the other, and other times again I did not think I was or could be either being again.

"Why do you make that sound bad?" Rob growled out as he folded his arms and glowered at the ghoul with displeasure. Always grumpy, he needed cheering up; perhaps I should bake him a cake or get him a chew toy.

"Because she's no longer healing but she is still bleeding," Kent murmured as his soft grey gaze glanced over at me from the end of the bed. He looked worried, always emotional his kind, poet has a squishy spot for the mad one.

Romero nodded grimly. "When a ghoul goes cold turkey it's a matter of them using the remaining blood in their system to heal to a point where they can survive as a Kine but sometimes they run out of blood before they're healed enough... Sarah wasn't just dealing with all the pains that come with going cold turkey but all the injuries she was left with too and now her body has healed all it can by itself. She's still injured though and she's only going to start declining now."

"And why are we having this discussion in front of her?" Rob demanded as he gestured towards me angrily with one hand. "To frighten her?"

"To make her aware," Romero answered unflinchingly. He turned from Rob to face me, the girl being quiet and good in bed. I supposed I could rant and scream as they could hardly send me to bed as punishment for it but for the moment I wanted to be quiet. Master had liked the screams though...

"Whatever choice is made should be yours," Romero addressed me sombrely.

"What choices are there?" Rob demanded savagely. "Could she go to a hospital? Could they help?"

"The treasure keeper must near soon," I murmured softly. "He made the voices quiet once."

"Treasure keeper?" Damsel echoed dumbly.

I looked at the redhead inquisitively and said, "marshmallow duck eggs." When she did not repeat it I frowned, so she had not become my echo then.

"Isaac," Kent guessed, "well he owns a jewellery shop so it seems log..." He paused and frowned at me. "Not logical," he grumbled, "but plausible she means him, I suppose."

"And the marshmallow duck eggs?" Damsel quipped dryly.

I clapped my hands with delight. "You are my copycat voice!" I frowned and pondered, "or is it I who is the copy?"

Damsel arched an eyebrow and glanced sideways at Rob. "Was she always like this as a human?"

"No," Rob grumbled, "I mean she was...different but not...not like this."

"Kicked from the clan but still entangled in the web," I murmured unhappily, "the voices come but there is no control."

"Anyway," Romero interrupted dryly, "is Isaac going to be here soon?"

Kent shrugged. "I really don't know, you were the last one to speak with him."

Romero frowned. "He didn't know." He glanced back at me again. "And I don't know how long missy can wait."

"She's still bleeding," Kent retorted calmly, "we all smell it and it's faster without the healing."

I shivered slightly at his words, I thought of perishing and finding master again, an eternity with my beloved torment, how I should weep and scream at the thought. I whimpered as fresh, hot pangs of pain rolled through me, rising up through my body until every inch seemed to sting. "It burns where it bleeds," I confessed, "more and more, worse and worse."

Kent nodded empathetically. "If you want one of us-"

"Don't finish that sentence," Rob growled out warningly.

Kent cocked his head in Rob's direction and said sharply, "I'm offering her a choice."

"So many choices, too many," I murmured, "but only one could contain the voices."

"Perhaps a temporary fix then," Beckett remarked calmly. Until now he had been so still and quiet I had thought he was practising at being a statue and wondered if he had plans to learn better about artefacts by posing as one. "You could yet be a ghoul and heal with Kindred blood."

Kent let out a mocking snort at that. "Are you offering?" he queried sardonically.

Beckett gave a small, brief grin in response. "If the situation calls for it," he answered carefully. "Does it really matter whose blood if it is to only be a temporary donation?"

"I don't want another master," I answered angrily, "and no more new voices to give orders and opinions!"

"It doesn't have to be that way," Kent said gently as he turned back to me with a kind, beguiling smile. His face was warm and promised only relief and comfort, I wanted to believe in it and I started to until Romero interrupted by shoving Kent back.

"No tricks, it ain't fair when she's completely human," Romero snapped wearily.

"I'm just trying to help her feel easier about the situation," Kent grumbled with a sulking frown.

"Yeah you Toreadors and your feelings," Romero retorted sardonically.

"Don't undermine those feelings of mine," Kent growled back with an angry flare in his grey eyes.

Romero raised his eyebrows slightly before shaking his head and turning abruptly away from the poet.

I shook my head in frustration as I clutched at my skull with both hands, too many voices inside and out. "I just want to be me again but I don't know who me is," I admitted. "For now I'll have the quiet, yes, go away and let the outside be quiet even if the inside can't." I lowered my hands and glowered at the room's occupants but no one made to move, instead they all regarded me with the same slightly mystified looks.

I felt my bowels give a familiar shift and shouted, "GET OUT! OUT!" Still no one moved and so I was forced to move myself. I did not know why I should care, I had no dignity and no right to it, all rights were master's but master was no more. So I threw my blanket off and made to bolt for the door. Of course I could not move fast, my body was sore and slow. I stumbled awkwardly as my legs tingled and threatened to give way. No one made to stop me, all caught in curiosity or simply surprise.

I let out a groan and doubled over in pain as I felt the blood trickle down my legs. "No," I choked out, "blood must stay in, never out." I shook my head in frustration as I reached for the door handle, missed and started to fall forward.

Strong arms caught me with ease as the door opened too quickly for me to notice. I looked up into a set of amber eyes and felt a rush of humiliation. If ever there was one who I didn't want to see me in a form so disgusting it was he. "You've come too late to save me from my fall," I murmured.

He looked down at me in disbelief but the expected revulsion did not fill his honeyed eyes; instead he pulled me close and let out a cry of joy.

"No," I protested as I felt my bowels turn again, "please no." There it was, another uncontrolled rush of warmth and shame. Only master held control in the end, he had made certain of it.

The Baron recoiled in an instant but if he bore any revulsion he masked it before it I could spy it.

"I'll take her," Romero offered from behind.

"I'll run the bath," Kent murmured.

"No. Run a bath, yes, but let me see her a little yet." The Baron's firm words surprised me; even after I had soiled myself like a yet untrained toddler he still sought my company. I eyed him in puzzlement trying to recall him, my dead self had loved him but how could one love with a still heart? It was madness but I suppose for the lost princess that had been the point. He stepped in from the doorway and only then did I hear the rustle of the bag in his right hand and notice it. Rope handle and fine, italic lettering on its side, well no surprise that the Toreador carried a branded bag.

"Food for you," he explained as he followed my gaze to the bag. "Romero said you were starting to eat a little."

"I'll go sort the bath," Kent said hastily before passing us in a blur.

"Go and help him Romero," Isaac ordered as he looked past me to the ghoul, "I'll bring her in."

I heard the ghoul suppress a sigh before he walked past me slowly towards the door. "Don't make her wait," he murmured to the Baron as he met his amber gaze, "she's in a lot of pain."

"Do you want us to get her more painkillers?" Damsel quipped.

"Us?" Rob snarled. "I'm not leaving her alone with him," he added savagely, "he'll frigging make her one of them."

"Not against her will," Isaac said softly.

"I have no will," I murmured, "the master held my will."

"Yes but he's gone," Beckett spoke up in a deadpan manner, once again reminding us that he was there, "would you follow him into the grave out of a poisoned belief of servitude? His blood is out of your system now, he should be too."

"Should," I repeated as I glanced over my shoulder at the archaeologist. "The belief remains, belief is strong, the voices were strong and they're becoming that way again. Ah history repeats itself doesn't it?"

"It can do," Beckett admitted, "but it does not have to. The past is unchangeable but the future is not young one."

"Dance on the blood strings of the elders, the future is not so free, freedom is an illusion," I mused.

"How can you speak like that still?" Isaac queried. I turned back to him and found him looking at me with fascination and love.

"The madness is me," I retorted. He shocked with me a smile at this.

"Then you are still you even if you don't realise it," Isaac said, sounding pleased.

"Sarah then Ariadne then Sarah then whore, dog and nameless all at once. Which me is me?" I pondered in frustration.

"Those are names, titles just," Isaac retorted softly, "and while they may change you will always be you. Sometimes you may forget or lose track as the Malkavians are known to do but we will always be here to remind you."

I felt the tears spill out of me suddenly and without warning, was it so simple? Was my identity simply lost but not destroyed as I had thought? Broken and misshapen by the Tzimisce to be changed into something worse. Could I come back from that? Would I? Another crippling pain tore through my already broken body and I fell to the ground with a scream as my vision flashed red before I could ponder it anymore.

I heard shouting but it was muffled as if cotton blocked my ears. Many voices were raised and exchanged, some I knew, some I had thought dead, and some new. Some called from without and some from within and for a few minutes there was only a noisy clamour I could make no sense from. When the darkness cleared it was only for an image of master leering, claws stretching out towards me, promising to drag me to an eternity of servitude. I wanted the darkness back.

Master didn't last though, another came, out of the nothingness it grew and grew behind master, a monster that rose and expanded until it was a beast large enough to devour master whole. It grinned at me from behind my still unsuspecting lord like a Cheshire Cat before its jaw dropped down and it swallowed up the Tzimisce with only a couple of screams. In one deep swallow and with a lick of the beast's lips master was gone. The false master devoured by the true one.

I was left with a being neither demon nor god, almost humane even, that settled its mismatched eyes upon me with interest as it folded its ash grey arms and sneered. It had four wings, the top two white and downy like an angel's and the bottom two sable like the crow's, and from its skull and wild tangled mane of hair half ebony and half gold four bull's horns grew. Clothed in bronze and a style from an ancient era his form, for it was a he, was decidedly unfamiliar to me and yet it was. I had never seen a figure like this before but I knew him.

" _I should, given my capacity for it, expect the unexpected_ ," he announced to me as he showed me the largest set of fangs I had ever seen. His canine teeth were like those of some primordial chiroptera. " _Yet with you I never see it coming_ ," he confessed. Voice? I knew that voice, it was the voice! " _You were meant to be free of me but now I am imprisoned by you. I should devour you too but I won't, or will I? Would that free me? Would it free you? Would it destroy one of us or part of us?_ "

Before I could answer he slipped out of my sight and my vision turned black and then grey as the light began to pierce through it along with voices of a more decidedly real nature.

"She's never going to love just you," the poet remarked heatedly, "it's not her fault I suppose but it is the way it is."

"I know," Romero retorted calmly in his deep, smooth voice, "she was with the Baron when I met her, even if I didn't know it at the time. He helps with those voices of hers, I don't know how, I don't think even he knows how but he does, that alone will keep her with him."

"Well why don't you find someone else?" Kent demanded in a frustrated tone.

I felt the gentle sloshing of warm water and Romero's worn palm brush against my cheek lightly. "That's an awfully fickle suggestion for a Toreador," Romero retorted mockingly. "Surely your kind knows better than anyone that it's not so easy. I didn't even mean to love her."

"No, you never meant to love again," Kent mused, "it's that tragedy that drew Isaac to you, you know. Anyway, that's not what I meant. I mean why don't you find someone to have as well as Ari...Sarah, you have needs don't you?"

"What's it to you?" Romero grumbled back in annoyance.

I opened my eyes warily; the air was scented with blood, my blood. I saw Kent leaning back on the edge of the bath with his arms resting on either side of him, his Ralph Lauren white shirt's sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his thick, ebony hair in a styled mess. It was ironic that when the disarray of hair was unintentional the poet freaked and obsessed with it for hours but when it was intentional he gloated and advertised it like a peacock did its tail.

I made to move and the pain immediately racked through me. Kent's sharp grey gaze turned to me and he murmured, "take it easy kid." He pushed himself up from the bath and turned to give me another look. "Isaac's made you soup so make an effort to eat it if you can," he informed me before trailing off quietly, "even if he did kind of burn it." He shook his head scornfully as Romero snickered before hastening from sight.

"What happened?" I queried as Romero's tired olive gaze peered down at me.

"You had a bad turn crazy cat," he answered, still calm. He leaned down with a thick, fluffy, white towel and lifted me up in it with ease. He dried me off as gently as he could, which was difficult enough due to my sensitivity and the fact that gentleness did not come to the grave guard easily. "From what I heard Rob wanted to take you to the hospital but Damsel talked him down and they went to get you some painkillers instead. I don't think a hospital could you help but I don't know."

"Am I out of time? Is the Baron's arrival to be a sign?"

He shrugged as he dressed me hastily. When I was clothed our eyes met once more. "I really don't know but..." His neck coloured slightly and he frowned slightly. "Damn I'm just going to say it, I can't lose you again so make your choice soon, I know it's not easy and if I could go back in time I don't know that I would accept Isaac's blood but that's neither here nor there, just...life's more interesting with you in it crazy cat." He turned away from me and stood up with me bundled in his arms.

I was silent as Romero carried me back to what had now become my overcrowded bedroom. I smiled faintly seeing Isaac fuss repeatedly over the pillows and sheets before he turned to us with a bashful look and smoothed out his brown blazer.

Romero placed me in the bed and stepped back to let Isaac fix me better so that I was sitting upright, supported by two pillows with the duvet and blanket up above my waist. "Are you hungry?" he quipped with a hopeful look.

I nodded though it was a lie and welcomed the burnt tomato soup Isaac offered me. I tried to reach for the spoon myself but one arm was too sluggish to make any kind of effort and the other wouldn't cease its trembling. So I was forced to let Isaac spoon feed me, perhaps it should have been romantic but it just made me feel helpless. Somehow I was free of master and yet still trapped at others' whims.

I was dosed with soup and painkillers and distracted by idle conversation from Isaac about Hollywood, Ash and VV before he was lured from my side by Beckett.

"I am sorry to disturb you," Beckett announced himself as he intruded upon myselves, the Baron, the ghoul and the poet, "but while I was out enjoying this quaint Oriental part of town I found evidence of something troubling."

"What?" Isaac queried warily.

"Sabbat," Beckett answered with a faint smile, "of the Tzimisce kind."

I don't why I started shrieking but I did. It couldn't be master but it could be master's kin. "Sascha comes to seek of the mind; he'll crack the skull and feed upon this one's yolk!"

Isaac grabbed me gently; both hands upon my skull as he forced me to meet his soothing, golden stare. "Ariadne if they are here I swear I will not let them harm you," he vowed. "Do not be frightened, they will not get within fifty feet of this building." He leaned forward and kissed me briefly on the brow instantly soothing my shrieks to silence.

"Weren't you interested in this Sascha creature?" Kent queried coldly as he stood up and faced Beckett.

"I didn't say it was him," Beckett mused, "but if it is then you would be right to show concern. He is one of the worst of them, if one can really rank such questionable Kindred."

"He, she, neither one nor the other," I babbled, "made many times over, female, male, sane, mad, sire and sired."

"And why have you come scurrying back from them?" Kent asked tauntingly.

"It's not that I don't love throwing myself into the heart of danger on a whim but actually, it's precisely that," Beckett answered, as deadpan as ever. "I am not opposed to helping, I will certainly help stand guard if the need requires it but I will not wantonly seek out the trouble."

"Oh I'll frigging go then I suppose," Kent snapped with a nervous look. "Maybe..." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I'll come with you," Isaac offered.

I made a whimper of protest. "Don't go, please, they could be many."

"We'll be careful," Isaac assured as he gave me a tender look. "Don't worry, Romero will stay with you."

"Well the sooner we go the sooner we can come back," Kent grumbled. "I've got some good guns downstairs." He hurried off without waiting for a reply.

"How long should we wait before we come looking?" Romero quipped dryly.

"Two hours," Isaac decided with a stern look before he added more kindly to me, "but it won't come to that." With those parting words he too hurried off.

Beckett left us as well to wait downstairs. While we waited and worried I wondered where Rob and Damsel were. I trembled despite myself and Romero's reassurances. He sat beside my bedside, keeping himself occupied by polishing his shotgun with a cloth.

After half an hour or so Beckett returned to us with a steaming cup clutched in his right hand. "Your sibling returned," he informed me as he approached my bedside, stopping just before Romero, "with something to help you sleep." He offered the cup out to me and I peered down at it curiously. The contents looked like warm milk and my sore throat was eager for it.

I tried to reach for the cup but my trembling began anew and I sagged against the bed in defeat.

"I'll help," Romero said quietly as he abandoned his gun and reached for the cup. Beckett surrendered it with ease and the ghoul held it up to my dry, cracked lips.

I gulped it down, my eyes widening at the sweet pleasurable taste that filled me. It was warm, strong and addictive. I gulped quicker and quicker as I felt its nourishment flood through my blood. I was like a wilted plant being watered, my aches were soothed, my tiredness faded and I felt everything brighten slightly.

Romero suddenly pulled the cup away prompting me to lunge forward with a growl and almost tumble from the bed. "MORE!" I snarled.

"What did you put in it?" Romero demanded.

"We were out of time," Beckett answered tranquilly, "and doing nothing was not going to help."

"Your blood," Romero grumbled as he shook his head.

"Only a little," Beckett retorted calmly with a smile, "it will sustain her and start the healing she needs."

"And when she has to be weaned off that?"

"She will be healed and will survive it," Beckett retorted confidently.

"And the Tzimisce?"

"An innocent deception," Beckett confessed.

I looked at Beckett eagerly as my broken nails dug into the edge of the mattress to stabilise me. "More," I repeated in a guttural growl.

"You know Isaac might stake you for this," Romero warned brightly.

"I should like to think the Baron would be beyond such hasty and primeval actions," Beckett replied, "and that he will see the sense in this."

"He's a Toreador, they're a passionate lot," Romero reminded him, "and he is particularly passionate about her."

"Well then I shall simply hope he is unarmed when he discovers our recent plot twist," Beckett answered in a biting tone.


	4. Chapter 3- Ghoul

_I looked before me and saw four sarcophagi, stone with numerous bas-reliefs on them depicting the horrors of our kind. I gazed at worn figures resembling monsters with fangs and claws tearing at humans, kings on thrones of skulls being brought human sacrifices. The chamber itself contained only these four relics and was avoid of any adornments. They looked like tombs to be forgotten and yet I knew this was not the case._

 _The air was heavy, humming loudly in my ears and as I watched the sarcophagi it grew heavier still. I felt my nose swell and ache and my ears begin to pound._

 _A lid trembled on one of the tombs and I trembled with it. They were so heavy and as I looked I made out clasps of bronze, and pikes of stone nailed into the sides as if to contain something. I stepped forward involuntarily and wondered suddenly how I could see these tombs when there was no light to guide me._

 _My eyes widened as two lids shook this time and the tombs became more visible still. Names were engraved upon them, they were in a tongue I shouldn't know and yet I could read them._

" _Feed them Ariadne," the voice on the web, the ever plotting, mad spider. "Let us continue the game. I need out of your head so let's kill two birds with one stone, serve me one last time my mad child. You may not bear my blood anymore but that serves a purpose because we wouldn't want diablerie."_

 _I stretched my arms out as my nose bloomed with blood and red streamed out of my ears. Immense pain surged through me as all four tombs began to shake violently as if in anticipation._

Blood, I could smell it, a darker variety than mine, it overrode the sickly stench of the blood flowing from my nostrils. I reached out to answer it, hungry and desperate. My mouth met cold flesh and warm blood and I guzzled greedily, eager for the song of the vampire. I felt so weak, sore and thirsty that any song would do. The tune that ran through me came as a howl, a wolf to chase away the spider and banish the remnants of the undead four.

"Now young one don't get greedy," a voice warned me. "It is another few hours before I can enjoy dinner."

Black turned to red and I sucked all the harder, desperate to banish the madness for the canine.

A firm hand grasped at my skull and wrenched me back. "Enough." Beckett, master, must obey. Obey for the blood, for the approval and the affection. To disobey was to be cast out, to lose the blood and the power and the protection.

I shuddered until my vision cleared and brought the irked looking Beckett into my sight. I felt damp and glancing down saw my bed sheets and person smeared in blood. I glanced to my left where Romero's tattered watch sat. I squinted in the dim, struggling to read the time even though the dials glowed. It was just after one in the afternoon though the blackout curtains gave the illusion of night.

"Why are you awake master wolf?" I queried curiously.

"You awoke me," he retorted moodily as he sat upright, pulling his sweet nectar away from me. "Perhaps I was too hasty in giving you my blood though certainly it was the best decision at the time." He paused and frowned. "It would have been better if only Isaac had seen the sense to do it himself or Kent, even your brother would have sufficed. I am not equipped to deal with your nightmares."

"Daymares," I corrected brightly as I smiled up at him. "But not quite that either," I murmured, "when the Dream Creature waves I wave back but there was no waving. The spider spun the web of visions." I reached one hand up to my nose and another to my ear, the blood was dry and crusting and thanks to Beckett's blood it was already receding. "What is it when one feeds across the lands, draining from a body that is not there?" I pondered.

Beckett's amber eyes flashed faintly with curiosity before he shook his head. He looked unusual without his glasses, hat and coat, unruffled for him though still quite dignified for a Gangrel I supposed. "Why did the Toreadors have to be too dramatic to save you?" he lamented. "It is only temporary unless one continues to feed you blood. Although if you keep bleeding out as you have today perhaps the bond will have to be longer." He frowned again. "What a troublesome being you are."

"I'm sorry master," I said sincerely as I bowed my head. I readied for the beating, Valyrion had been quick to punish the eternal disappointments I created for him. Submit and it's easier, sometimes, but sometimes he liked the resisting too, it gave him a challenge. Which would the wolf prefer?

"Why are you quivering?" he queried with a hint of revulsion seeping into his deadpan voice. "Do you think I wish to do you harm? This is why I have never desired a ghoul, as useful as you can be the blood bond is a cruel thing."

"The last master wished hurt and pleasure all at once upon this one, warnings and lessons in the night, got to obey, always obey, got to speak of the antediluvians but I don't know of them. I should have been freed of the web but now the spider is caught in mine."

"Of course," the archaeologist grumbled. "I suppose given the nature of the Tzimisce your reaction to your current situation is understandable. Suffice to say I am no Tzimisce, which you know, rather I am simply an eager seeker of the truth."

"Through this one's mind you hope to seek?" I queried tentatively. "Last master wished to smash the egg and eat out the yolky brains but the egg is not gold, there will be no revelation in this one."

"Given the nature of the Malkavians, to which you once belonged, I believe it is entirely possible that you have a knowledge of which you are not aware the value of."

"I have knowledge of which I have no knowledge? Well I must then hunt through my mind harder and punish it for its secrets!"

"Quite," Beckett murmured with another weary look in my direction. "It is too early I think for me to be attempting to decipher the mysteries of a mad mind. You seem well again, at least as well as one of your nature can be and I hear the other ghoul returning. We will talk again at a more pleasurable hour."

"Please forgive me master wolf," I pleaded as I glanced up at him apologetically. "I do not mean to keep the secrets. I did not mean to keep them from the last master either, this one does not seek to be disobedient. Naughty, naughty, strayed from the path, do not devour red wolf, she can be useful yet."

He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment before he reluctantly reached out his right hand and patted me on the head twice with it. "There, there young one I'm not mad." He paused and gave a flicker of a smile before he stood up and walked out of the room, undoubtedly to return to his basement confines.

Sickened by the smell of my drying blood on the bed sheets I climbed out of the bed and hunted through the old oak set of drawers for fresh clothes. The outfits were all too plain for my liking, a combination of Kent's unpractical pieces of stylish clothes that involved too much lace and leather and heels that would hinder any attempts to run, and Damsel's idea of practicality over style that led to rebellious t-shirts, ripped shorts and biker boots that would weigh me down if I needed to flee.

I hastened to the bathroom and scrubbed myself as thoroughly as I could of the bloodstains and sweatstains that had come with the dream that was not quite a dream. I still found the water stripping the flesh of stains an odd sensation and marvelled as the blood trickled off to stain the white sink pink. The thought of Kent's misery over the stains made me smile for a moment before I scrubbed it all away.

I dressed to resemble a Brujah crossed with a Toreador and frowned, it was neither Gangrel nor Malkavian but maybe it could just be mortal. I was still mortal after all even as I was plagued by the Malkavian minds and the Gangrel blood.

I emerged to the corridor just as Romero climbed up the last step. He looked over at me calmly and queried, "what in the hell are you wearing?"

"I'm a pretty punk," I informed him happily. I had donned the torn black t-shirt with Anarchy on it red font along with a long, open, black waistcoat, one of Kent's marvellous silk, red ties, ripped, black, studded, denim shorts and black stockings with shiny, black shoes and several bandanas of red, blue and green that I had knotted about my legs and arms.

"Well I did ask," he murmured. "I'm glad to see you up, did you sleep well?"

I nodded, an easy lie but it wouldn't do to have the grave guardian wondering. I had some faint memories of his warm flesh against mine, only briefly had my own flesh been warm back. I did not know if I still desired to feel it. I could recall another's as well, always ice and yet as welcoming and comforting as the heat. The Baron loved me with a dead heart and yet he had all the passion of a Toreador behind it, he had softened the voices with his love and that I did miss. If I had been down with him would the vision of the dead four have still come?

The grave guardian ran a hand through his thick hair and nodded but I could see in his eyes that the lie wasn't believed. "Well now that you're up do you want to get some lunch?"

Food, it was an odd thought to have but with the blood cravings subsidised I realised there was yet an urge for nourishment. I nodded and cocked my head curiously to the right as I took Romero in. "Different hair and clothes," I mused, "why is this? The hair was kept in strict control so the zombies had nothing to grab."

Romero frowned back at me as his hand dropped away from his charcoal locks. "You don't like it?"

I smiled at him. "I like it as I liked the old, I like everything about you," I assured, "but...it's like the poet's hair, messy but not messy...styled...very Toreador, has Isaac's blood shown more influence?"

"Er..." Romero flustered slightly as he looked away from me. "Yeah let's get lunch crazy cat," he grumbled.

I bounced after him as we exited to Chinatown. Though it was muggy and murky outside I still recoiled from the unseen but felt sun with a hiss. "Burns," I murmured as I squinted in the grey afternoon.

"You've been in the dark too long that's all kitten," Romero murmured as he glanced back at me with a grin.

"We shared a sunrise on the beach," I mused as I raised my right hand above my eyes and looked out at Chinatown.

"Yes," Romero retorted approvingly. "See you're remembering it all now, just like I said you would."

"And then I left, I shouldn't have done that," I added darkly. I dropped my hand away and breathed in but all I could smell was takeaway food, sweet perfumes and a faint whiff of orchids from trees planted to make the streets look prettier. Once I would have received a myriad of scents, with numerous flavours of blood dominating them all. "But Kent showed up," I recalled with a shiver, "to make the madness poetry." I felt my stomach twist in revulsion.

"He has never quite forgiven himself for that," Romero informed me quietly as he held out his left hand to me. "Even though we both know you would have run anyway. You talked about your family and you went to them, Kent couldn't have swayed that."

"No," I agreed as I accepted his hand and allowed him to lead up the narrow alleyway our apartment occupied and onto the main street of Chinatown.

"When you're more yourself you should let Kent know you don't blame him," Romero continued as he glanced back at me awkwardly, "er...that is if you don't blame him."

I shook my head even as I wondered at what curious developments had occurred in the relationship between poet and grave guard. "Do you and he still quibble?" I quipped innocently. "He disapproved of us, I think he still does but for different reasons."

Romero shrugged. "Yeah let's not talk about that," he grumbled, "let's just get food and maybe, just maybe we can pretend at having a normal lunch."

I grinned back at him; I liked to pretend, especially at tea parties.

Chinatown was as advertised, a slice of the Oriental in L.A with colourful lanterns, dragon imagery, Chinese lettering mixed with English, and jade and red topped roofs shaped to mimic temple rooftops. It was brimming with life as the old culture mixed with the new and the lanterns competed with neon signs depicting crude cartoon characters, and behind the temple designed restaurants and shops generic towers rose and dominated the landscape.

Even though it was day the lanterns and neon signs were already on though dull against the grey sky. In a couple of hours they might serve a purpose but for now they just appeared tacky and unnecessary and their buzzing and flickering was a distraction.

We bypassed the clichéd but expected Red Dragon restaurant. I paused to peer up at the red beast clinging to the sign possessively and pondered aloud, "could the fabled wish balls be hidden within?"

"I don't know what that means and all I'm gonna say is my wallet is definitely not going to cover that place so keep walking," Romero retorted dryly before he pulled me on.

"No, your wallet would be too small," I mused, "perhaps it could cover the dragon's head. Yes, we could blind it temporarily and I could find the wish balls or perhaps a princess. No, the princess is with the flowers. What then does the dragon guard? Oh, perhaps an ancient find, a sacred treasure from the East with secrets of old upon it."

"I really don't know what you're talking about but I suppose that's not new," Romero murmured, "although you're sounding slightly like Beckett." He gave me a suspicious glance. "Exactly how much of his blood have you had?" he queried curiously.

I giggled and answered coyly, "not enough to know the story of the dinosaurs."

We continued on our way calmly until I spied the noodle place. "The Oriental spaghetti would be a treat," I decided with a grin.

Romero frowned at me and shook his head. "Oriental spaghetti right...well if it's what you want. Although," his frown deepened, "didn't Kent mention something about a sword wielding girl within? Although I do kind of wonder if that might be another one of his fantasies."

"Perhaps just an after school job?" I suggested as I drew the grave guard on. I could smell the noodles cooking within and it was too good to resist. "Come on it's still school time we shall be safe."

I pulled Romero in and we were greeted by a young woman whose attire and youthful face made it tricky to guess at her age. She was Oriental in appearance, almond eyed with pale honey skin and glossy, charcoal chocolate hair bound up in two pigtails. She was seated behind the counter leaning against a radio eyeing us with a tired, bored expression that I knew was feigned. Though she had her eyes squinting so as to appear sleepy I could still see the alertness in her inky pupils.

"Konnichiwa," she greeted wearily, "what do you want?"

My eyes rolled up to the yellowed, stained menu above her with red and black font scribbled out and changed over many times so as to match demand, supply and inflation. "I desire lamb hearts soaked in blood," I murmured as I licked my lips eagerly, "but if not that then noodles."

"Maybe reign back the Gangrel cravings a bit," Romero advised in a low voice in my left ear.

The woman stood up and eyed me with open suspicion now and a hint of disgust.

"One guise in the day another at night," I mused, "play safe with the fishes daughter of the Rising Sun."

"Nani?" she queried sharply.

"Just ignore her," Romero grumbled as he gripped both my shoulders and eased me to the right and out of her eye line before he stepped up to the counter. "She's anaemic," he lied, "and it makes her light headed sometimes."

"Like the mirror mistress she is not what she appears," I cautioned, "no one is." _Demon slayer!_ The voice on the web cried out excitedly. "Are you the Japanese Buffy?" I quipped with intrigue.

In a beautiful jump and tumble the young woman was over the counter and before me with a sword out and at my throat.

"Where were you hiding that?" I queried with interest. It was a katakana, rather long in proportion to its wielder though she did not seem to be struggling with it.

"The dark haired demon asked the same question," she answered hotly. "I know demons and you're not one but you know too much for a human."

"Schoolgirl with a sword," Romero murmured. He was glancing over at me with disapproval but was no more alarmed by the sword than I was. "Missy I don't mean to be rude but you seem to know too much for a human yourself."

She glanced over her shoulder briefly at him and tensed as if finally realising she was surrounded.

"I just want the Oriental spaghetti," I lamented.

"Nani?!" she snapped again. "You are strange."

"I'm good at fishing when I'm fed," I retorted with a grin.

She cocked her head in suspicion before glancing back at Romero again. "Who are you people?" she demanded.

"Who are you?" Romero countered as he folded his arms and leaned back against one of the red leather stools.

"O-gami Yukie desu."

"A demon hunter?" Romero queried.

She nodded. "Hai I am shi, demon hunter."

"Vampires?" he questioned curiously.

She shrugged and shook her head. "They're demons too but I only hunt them if they give me cause."

"Our friend says you chased him out of here with a sword," Romero informed her as he dropped all pretence of normality.

"Anata no tomodachi the dark haired one?" she demanded.

Romero nodded though he seemed uncertain about the Japanese part.

"You here for revenge?" Yukie spat out as she turned her sword in the grave ghoul's direction.

"Am I carrying a freaking sword?" Romero retorted hotly.

"Oh yes let's chop limbs like Gimble and go find Bill!" I enthused with a clap of my hands. This earned the sword straight back against my throat.

"We're not here for revenge," Romero assured in a fed up tone, "and if avenging people was an interest of mine Kent, the dark haired demon, wouldn't be on the list. I imagine he deserved your anger I'm just curious about it that's all. See we're not vampires but as you've sussed, mainly thanks to her," he pointed at me and I glanced about myself in confusion, "we're not exactly normal either and we do know the vampires."

Yukie nodded. "When I took out my sword as a warning he said he could shoot faster than I could strike him."

Romero shook his head with a look of despair. "Well that would be Kent, always trying to keep the peace. Now, can we get those noodles?"

"We could help with the fishing," I enthused.

"The demon, Hengeyokai, he killed my sensei," Yukie murmured, "but how do you know of him?"

"She doesn't," Romero answered before I could.

"He is a fish demon," Yukie explained, "and why I am here."

"You're not here to serve noodles?" I queried with a look of sorrow.

"A cover," Yukie explained, "I work at night to be hidden with the demons of Chinatown but old man who owns this place needed help today."

"And what happens when you get the fishy one?" I asked.

Yuki shrugged again. "I don't know, my parents and sensei are kojin...dead," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "when sensei is avenged I shall keep hunting demons."

"Anyway, about those noodles," Romero interrupted impatiently.

"Alright old man," Yukie grumbled as she finally sheathed her sword, under the back of her tan jacket. "What kind?"

"You know I only look thirty-seven," Romero grumbled,

Yukie turned her head up to him and shook her head. "Iie, I don't think so," she retorted aloofly before walking round the other side of the counter. She turned her attention to the cooker. "So what kind of noodles?"

"Ones with chunks of cow drenched in pig's blood," I answered eagerly.

"Beef or pork ramen, pick ichi," Yuki answered bluntly as she added oil to the wok.

I pouted and made faces at her back. "Chicken with piglet blood?" I suggested hopefully.

"She'll take chicken with chilli sauce," Romero remarked bluntly. "I'll have pork."

Once the noodles were ready and boxed up I blurted out, "we can help with the fish man."

Romero frowned over at me and said sternly, "no we can't."

"She's just a kid," I pouted at him as I gestured out to Yukie, "and she has a cool sword, she could be good company."

"Honto ni?" Yukie quipped as she stared over at me suspiciously. "Company for what?"

"Hunting flesh meddlers," I murmured.

"We're not doing that," Romero grumbled, "and you don't know anything about a fish demon."

"But we could learn," I insisted, "we help her, she helps us."

Yukie shrugged. "Hai, we could make this...trade."

I clapped my hands together in delight. "We can be friends!"

"You don't even have fangs anymore and yet you still cause trouble," Romero lamented as he lifted the noodle boxes.

Yukie folded her arms and frowned over at both of us. "You really want to help?"

"Yes!" I enthused.

"What's your name?" Yukie demanded.

I tensed and cocked my head slightly as I pondered over this. First Sarah, then Ariade, then whore, bitch, dirt and every other insult the old master wished to lay upon me. Ariadne still to the spider and the Baron, Malkavian, kid, nutcase to the poet, crazy cat and kitten to the grave guardian, Sarah to the brother and to the wolf master I was young one. Well master was master but was young one my name or a nickname? Was it is his only name for me?

"Sarah," Romero answered for me, "and I'm Romero."

"Strange name," Yukie murmured.

"In this scenario I'm definitely not the strange one," Romero retorted defensively. "Anyway look, if we find out anything about the fish demon we'll come back to you, alright?"

I frowned at him again and intended to make offers to Yukie to come with us now but Romero turned me around and pushed me to the door before I could.

"I'll find the fish!" I vowed loudly as we exited to a busy street. I earned a few odd looks for my outburst before the people continued about their business.

"Can't you just leave it?" Romero complained as he jostled me down the path and across a road to a small park area. "You're human now; fighting demons isn't easy when you're human."

"You fight them," I reminded him.

We sat on a jade green bench beneath pink blossomed trees overlooking a small pond with lotus blossoms, lily pads, ducks and swans. It was a quaint and oddly peaceful section of the busy Asian section of LA and a welcome contrast to the heavy afternoon traffic and bustling office buildings.

"Jamie Sue does the hard work, and I don't go looking for them," Romero retorted as he handed me my noodles.

"I didn't go looking," I argued, "I was seeking noodles." I opened the box and smiled down at them in delight.

"Let's just try and keep a low profile crazy cat, please? You've only been a ghoul for three days now and this is the first you've come outside, if Isaac thinks you're getting caught up with..."

"Something fishy?" I suggested with a grin.

Romero frowned down at me pointedly and shook his head. "Something dangerous," he corrected, "then he's going to forbid you trips around Chinatown without his supervision."

I sighed. "Locked in the tower to grow my fur."

"Don't you mean hair?" Romero corrected.

I watched as he fidgeted with his chopsticks before he began spearing at the noodles with them. "I feel itchy behind my ears," I explained as I sucked up a noodle, "I think it's fur."

"I think you've had more Gangrel blood than you or the bookworm wants to let on. You want to take care with that, you already know how the blood can cloud you and bind you to the vampire that's giving it to you."

"Blood is healing, blood is life, master wolf keeps this one going."

"Master wolf? Shit, Isaac's not going to like that. It's a wonder he hasn't staked him already, not that staking destroys you guys. Seriously though, take care crazy cat, I know I said I wanted you to keep going, and I do but I don't want you becoming some vampire's puppet."

"You are not the Baron's Pinocchio," I pointed out.

"No but I am his servant and for all that he's granted me so long as I drink his blood that's the way it's gonna be. That's what a Ghoul is kitten, a servant, so just keep that in mind, and don't get tricked into thinking it's anything more. When you're healed and don't need the blood anymore, don't take it. Easier said than done, I know, but you've gotta fight the addiction when you can. You need to be free, after everything you've been through you deserve it."

I nodded and gave the zombie shooter a fleeting smile before I resumed devouring my noodles.


	5. Chapter 4- Master's Will

The night. People always write about the night as something mysterious and mystical. The day has truths and light, the night has secrets and darkness. Well in Chinatown it probably has all that too but right now, on this evening, there are also flickering, red, neon lights, the smell of takeaway mingled with rotted fish and sweet herbs, the squawking of chickens coupled with the nonstop rush of traffic, and the endless chatter of a varied public mingling through stores and clubs. The day crowd hasn't quite given way to the night crowd yet. The schoolgirls are only just beginning to swap their pleated skirts for leather and their school books for cigarettes and fake ids. The vampires are only just beginning to waken.

There was an ever increasing odour of blood. It drew me back to the reality of the room I loitered in. I wanted to see the moon, I missed the moon but there were too many lights dancing outside the dirty window to see her and I feared what might look back in if I looked out too often.

I felt the Kindred stir. Who would be quickest? They were coming, answering to the evening call of the blood. Up the stairs in a blur to devour me. Yes, come, tear this one apart and free the minds from the shackles of the flesh. There's plenty for all. Can't resist the call of the crimson nectar when it comes first thing in the night.

I lay back with a smile and stretched out my wrists in waiting. Come, end it, end the fragile mortality, finish the madness and free me, us, him. The spider demands freedom from the child's web. The mad master screams for this one's death, a sacrifice for his liberty. He doesn't want it but captivity has made him crazier than ever. I understand that, imprisonment for with the Tzimisce did little for my sanity.

The door burst open and in they came. I felt a rush of air as the circled me with their shared unnatural speed. Everyone was here for supper except the wolf master and poor brother, no speed for the feral clan. Well they shouldn't witness this one's fate. The arrivals were still, exchanging glares as they challenged one another for the bloody bounty.

I watched as Kent came first before Isaac flung him back hard into a wall. Damsel tried to take advantage and sneak to me from behind the baron but he was too quick for her. The redhead went into another wall with a vicious snarl of protest. Isaac moved too swiftly for them and within a second his face was pressed close to mine- golden eyes hungering, searching, and lusting.

"Jesus Christ!" Kent exclaimed. "Isaac don't!"

The baron paused and to my frustration the hunger slipped away and all I saw was sorrow in his honeyed gaze. I scowled back at him before sitting up and thrusting my wrists out to him with a scream. "Take it! Take it all! Take it now!"

Isaac looked back at me with horror before he withdrew from my bloody stains with a shudder. "Ariadne what did you do?" he demanded.

"We need free! Too many voices trapped in one body! It hurts my head! We need out! He needs out!" I shouted back as I continued to shake my wrists at him sending bloody droplets all over the floor.

Damsel moved to me again but Rob's strong hands reached out and snatched her back from behind as he charged into the room. "NO!" he roared at her as his eyes blazed and his fangs arched just above her head warningly.

The redhead hissed and struggled in his grasp briefly before she shook her head and recoiled into his chest. "Sorry," she whispered as she winced, "but it's a strong smell."

"I know," Rob muttered as he turned his disapproving gaze upon me. "Sarah what the hell did you do to yourself?"

"The voices want released, a human cannot hold them," I murmured. "The spiders wants the old children awake, he tried to feed them with this one, two birds, no," I smiled and shook my head, "four chained birds and this one with broken wings, five birds and one bloody stone. The spider needs free of his mortal child's bonds."

"What spider?" Isaac demanded in frustration. "What birds? Who do you mean?" His eyes purposely avoided my wrists and kept their stare on my pallid face instead.

I smiled back hatefully before raising my wrists to smear the blood about my face.

They all hissed then, too close to the edge with their thirst.

"Where the fuck is Romero?" Kent demanded. He was on his feet once more, not a hair out of place as he hung back against the wall, grey eyes dancing from me to Isaac to Rob.

"My head hurt and hurt and hurt, it's cracking you see and it will split to let the voices out," I babbled. "He locked the door, must stay in while he gets tablets for the pain but the head won't stop swelling, the voices will make it burst."

"You exploited his concern for you," Isaac remarked disapprovingly as he arched a greyish-brown eyebrow.

"Bark for your master poet slut," I murmured, "down on your knees and enjoy the pain. The things the flesh moulders can make you do. He kept the voices quiet sweet, vile Valyrion, he overpowered them, too much screaming to hear them."

"Can I not silence them still?" Isaac queried woefully. He returned before me, crouched down and reached out one hand to stroke my blood smeared right cheek.

I shut my eyes and shuddered at his touch. "You soothed them once a long, long time ago but then the nightmares became real and the voices did too. Too long a Ghoul whore for the Sabbat, too long a mortal for the voices to invade, the mortal mind is too weak and they will not be silenced!" I felt the tears come with my words, slowly trickling down my cheeks to mix with the blood.

Isaac tried to wipe away a tear and his fingers became stained with my blood. He froze up with the gesture and withdrew his fingers slowly, looking to them with a disturbing hunger.

"Taste it," I begged him, "just a drop and then, if it pleases, have the rest and set the voices free."

My baron obeyed, licking at his two fingers slowly whilst the others watched on, transfixed in their longing.

I closed my eyes and sagged with relief, he had sampled it, and it was done. He could not resist the rest; the call was surely too close and too strong.

"This is quite a performance you have put on Ariadne," Isaac remarked calmly.

My eyes opened and I looked to him in surprise. He lowered his hand and looked back to me with only grief, no bloodlust.

Isaac gave me a pitying smile. "I have been around for a very long time," he said softly, "do you truly think I have not mastered the lure of the blood call? I have not frenzied in over eighty years and even the temptation of blood first thing in the evening is not going to sway me."

I shook my head woefully. "The voice wants the blood gone, he thinks it will free him from me and perhaps it will free me too."

The Baron made to pull me close but then his gaze fell on my bloodstains and he paused. The Toreador did not like the mess. "We'll clean you up," he said gently. "I'll get a towel." He was up and out of the room before I could respond, bypassing a curious Beckett in a blur.

Kent was quick to replace the Baron's spot. I smiled at the replacement; Kent was younger and weaker than the Baron. I smeared the blood about myself anew, rubbing it across my throat and chest before I soaked my face again. "I'm dirty Kent," I said with a grin, "help me be clean again."

Rob yelled and Damsel snarled as Kent obeyed. Damsel's bloodlust was too much for Rob and he could not release her to come and stop Kent. Kent's tongue moved round me rapidly, lapping up the blood promptly from my pale cheeks. It lingered over my throat slightly and I felt his fangs press against the skin before he resisted the urge to bite. He seized my right wrist in his hand, drawing it up before his face in a grasp tight enough to bruise before he lapped around it quickly.

The poet halted and tilted his head up slightly as he swallowed hard. His eyes remained grey as they looked my way eagerly as my blood ran down his exposed white throat. "Is that to your satisfaction?" he queried hoarsely. "Or shall I take more?"

"More," the voice answered through me. I felt so tired and heavy, too much had leaked out of me anyway. Unless the wolf master sought to replace it I had only a little to spare before a sable coma engulfed me.

Kent nodded as he released my wrist. He seized my left wrist and licked hard about it, cleaning the stains before sucking close at the wound. Only when he dropped it too did I realise that the bleeding had slowed.

My eyes narrowed in revulsion before I curled my hands into fists and slammed them hard against his chest. "You finish it! You finish it!" I shrieked at him.

Kent was still as I beat at his chest and wrinkled his $200 grey shirt. It did not last long; I was too weak and succumbed quickly to a dizzy spell. I slumped against him and he embraced me tightly. "It's alright," he murmured softly.

"It's not! It's not! I don't know how to make it stop! The Malkavian could control the voices but I can't! I can't! With Ariadne there was balance, sense in the madness, madness in the sense but no longer!"

Kent squeezed me gently before ruffling my dark hair. "It's only been a few days," he reminded me, "you must give it time Ari...Sarah."

"See!" I snapped. "You don't even know who I am!"

"You're who you have always been, it doesn't matter which name you choose to use, you are still you," I heard Isaac answer from somewhere nearby. Had he watched our dramatic scene?

"You can't make the spider stop; nothing makes it stop," I retorted hotly, "not even mortality."

"We've dealt with worse," Kent assured me.

"We defeated the burning child," Isaac recalled.

"I was thinking more of the time she decided to sneak to the sewers to paint pink bunnies all over Gary's sleeping quarters and swap all his clothes for petticoats," Kent murmured. "I really didn't think that sewer trash was going to let that go."

I smiled as I thought of that, yes I remembered the rat king, I had often had such fun with his ugly followers, playing video games in the sewers.

"Might I help undo some of this damage?" Beckett's droll voice rang out.

I turned to the right and stared up at him angrily. He stood as calm as ever with his right hand bare and extended out in offering. "No, no more foreign blood," I grumbled, "no more voices and masters."

"You need it young one, you've lost too much," Beckett retorted sternly.

I clenched tightly at Kent's shirt with both hands and sucked in a breath as I fought against the instinctive nature to obey Beckett. "Good," I answered stubbornly to Kent's shirt, "then the freedom will come."

"Kid don't be like that," Kent chided. "Much as I don't want you drinking any more blood of the furball variety Beckett's right, you do need it."

Beckett gave a low, scoffing grunt at the term 'furball'.

I continued to shake my head. "No! Never free, one collar for another, no freedom, I want to be left alone!"

Kent sighed before pushing me back slightly and giving me a tired smile. "It's barely moonup, little early for you to be such a pain in the ass hmm? How about we make a deal kid? You take the blood and promise to stop hurting yourself and we'll go to the park."

"Yeah, save the melodrama for the Toreadors," Rob grumbled.

"It's only temporary Ariadne," Isaac commented with a pleading look as he moved to stand beside Kent and just opposite Beckett. "Once your body is healed to the point that it can survive without a Kindred's blood then you can stop being a Ghoul. Of course that's only going to happen if you stop wounding yourself," he added sternly.

"The voice insists," I murmured, "cuts for silence, blood for liberty. Wake up the Aralu and please the spider, the first master for this lowly fly."

"Wake up the what?" Beckett queried sharply.

"Daddy called me mad," I murmured unhappily, "but daddy didn't know some of the voices were real."

"You said Aralu," Beckett remarked seriously, "why?"

"Why does she say anything?" Kent grumbled moodily. "Hurry up and make with the blood."

"What in the hell happened here?" Romero had returned.

I watched as Rob squared up to the zombie fighter immediately, poking him hard in the chest with one hand and a snarl. "You left her you fool and she cut herself!"

"Now Robert," Isaac chided, "Ariadne admitted she deceived Romero into thinking she was suffering so that he would get her aid."

Rob turned a furious glower on Isaac and shook his hands out as he snapped back, "it's Rob and she is Sarah! God damn it will you get it right you senile asshole!"

Kent snickered before he could help himself and made a point of keeping his stare down on me when Isaac's golden gaze fell on him disapprovingly.

Romero let out a weary sigh before setting down his paper bags and scratching his head with his right hand. "I'm not a babysitter," he commented to Rob dryly, "and she was crying in pain, if she faked it well shit I'm sorry but she put on a pretty believable performance."

"No deception," I murmured, "the voices make my head sore, too much noise sometimes and all that pushing, it's overcrowded."

"She will faint soon," Beckett pointed out, "so let's cease the delaying shall we?" He crouched before me, nipped his wrist and held it out beneath my chin.

I turned from him and burrowed my head into Kent with a whimper of protest.

"Stop being stubborn kid," Kent chided. "I'll let you feed the ducks if you drink the blood."

"Ducks?" Romero echoed curiously.

"I want geese," I grumbled into Kent, "they have the golden eggs and sometimes sticky feathers."

"Well sure, we'll feed the geese then," he muttered.

"Liar, there's no geese in that park," I retorted crossly. There was a ringing in my ears now and I knew my vision my dimming, though admittedly it was hard to tell given it was dark against Kent anyway.

"Shit what did you ask for then?" he snarled back angrily.

"There are probably plenty of geese around here somewhere," Damsel remarked tiredly.

"None living I'm sure," Beckett retorted dryly.

"Really helpful you two, honestly, I don't know what we'd do without you pair," Kent sneered sarcastically.

"Hey I was trying to help!" Damsel protested. "The mangy dog is the one who said they were dead!"

Beckett's red eyes flashed with anger at Damsel's words though he did not protest them. "Young one you are close to a faint, I can sense it," he scolded as he frowned at me. "The blood is only temporary, now drink."

I turned obediently, ready to be the good Ghoul yet again and wavered towards the pallid limb. "No!" I snapped as I shut my eyes and recoiled. "No more control, please!" My eyes leaked again and I scowled, they needed better plumbing.

"It's a small price to pay to keep you alive and healing," Isaac remarked quietly, "and Beckett's control will be limited."

"I have already said I do not seek to be your master," Beckett chimed up. "I only gave you my blood to keep you from the grave, not to control you."

"Alright, alright," Kent interrupted. He gripped my head with one hand and tilted it up so that I was facing him. "I know what you want kid." He grinned down at me proudly with a glimmer of mischief in his dove grey eyes. "There's a sandpit at the park, you want to build sandcastles?"

I opened my mouth to say 'no' but my tongue betrayed me and no sound came out. I narrowed my eyes as I felt them fill with rage and then I scowled. Finally I cursed and tried to jerk back from the dark haired Toreador but alas he was quicker and had me restrained. It made me miss my vampire strength; I was at a terrible advantage as a Kine amongst Kindred. "That's not fair!" I protested. "My main weakness! No, not fair! You don't even have a bucket!"

"I can get one," Kent retorted stubbornly as he sneered down at me. "Anything to end this nonsense. Now, it's settled, you take Beckett's blood or there are no sandcastles."

"She's not four," Rob scolded.

I turned away from Kent though his grasp remained upon my shoulders. I looked instead to Beckett's still waiting limb and sighed. "Fine, I'll drink the blood," I gave in.

Beckett held his wrist up to my lips and I tentatively stuck out my tongue to his wound with a shudder. Of course once I tasted it I couldn't resist it was so sweet and seductive. It drew me in against my will and once more I was a slave to the vampire blood. Beckett pulled back after a couple of minutes and patted me on the head almost as an afterthought. "You did well," he praised quietly. At his words I felt a prickle of pride though I tried to ignore it, certain it was only a sign of his growing control over me.

Kent released me at last and helped me to my feet. I wanted to shake off his help but I was wobbly as I rose and didn't yet have the strength to push him away.

"There'd better be sandcastles and ducks," I growled at him.

Kent sighed dramatically in answer before rolling his eyes. "Sure kid," he answered reluctantly, "but first I've got to feed, in fact I'm certain we all do."

"Not me," Rob snarled, "I'm not leaving her alone."

"I'd like to say she won't be alone but I feel I'm just walking into an obvious trap with that one," Romero grumbled.

"You mean because I might say that you left her alone and she damn near died?" Rob retorted heatedly. "Because you did!"

"Yeah, something like that," Romero retorted bitingly, still unflinching despite Rob's close proximity to him.

"It wasn't his fault Rob," I said sincerely, "my headaches were awful and I did beg him for help."

"He should've known better than to leave," Rob grunted back but his voice was quieter now.

"You didn't hear my screams of agony or see the tears," I pointed out softly.

Rob glanced over at me with worry and shook his head. "Shit Sarah you're human again why can't you just..." He trailed off, uncertain what to say.

"Be normal?" I suggested quietly. "I wish I could Rob but I've never been a normal human."

"Nor should you be," Isaac remarked sternly, "your abnormality is part of your charm. Now, those bloodstains."

I finally noticed the damp cloth in his right hand and broke from Kent to walk up to Isaac. I stood still and allowed Isaac to scrub me clean. He was quick but gentle, offering an approving murmur as he noted how my wounds had already started to heal. "Don't do it again," he pleaded as he dabbed the cloth on my nose.

"I'll try," I promised, "but it is the strongest voice that gets obeyed."

"Well let it be my voice," he begged, "let it silence the other voices again." He leaned down and kissed me tenderly on the lips.

I closed my eyes and welcomed the kiss, leaning up to respond as he wrapped one hand about my waist. I felt a rush of warmth and joy with the gesture as I recalled the many tender moments between the baron and I.

He pulled back and said, "right we need to feed, you'll be safe with Romero."

I nodded. "Yes, I'll wait for the sandcastles," I assured. "Oh perhaps the fishy might be lingering in the pond with the ducks!" I exclaimed brightly.

"The fishy? Why the hell would one fish be different to the others?" Damsel pondered wearily. "The pond is probably full of fish."

"Why must you ask?" Kent groaned as he threw his head up in the air dramatically. "Now we're probably going to get a long story about fairies seeking their lost prince who's been turned into a fish or some shit."

"Tis the junior samurai seeking revenge for her master actually," I retorted with a grin, "the fairies' prince is actually a frog but he might be there too!"

"That would be a very crowded pond," Beckett murmured sardonically with a slight smirk.

"The junior samurai," Kent repeated as his gaze narrowed in suspicion. "Wait a minute." He pointed at me accusingly. "Where were you today?" he demanded. He whirled round to glower at Romero. "Where did you take her for lunch?"

Romero let out a laboured sigh. "Trying to keep zombies from chewing my brains out was definitely easier than this," he grumbled. "She wanted noodles Kent and she got them from a schoolgirl with a sword who apparently is here to kill a demon that killed her master."

"She thinks I'm a demon!" Kent snapped. "I warned you about her!"

"You are a demon," Romero mocked, "and she already assured us she has no interest in you providing you don't threaten to shoot her," he added pointedly.

"She had a frigging samurai sword!" Kent retorted as he clapped a hand against his chest dramatically. "I was merely defending myself!"

"We're friends now!" I chirped up. "If I find the fishy one she will help me."

"Help you with what?" Kent demanded. "No wait," he protested with a wave of his right hand, "forget I asked, it's not going to make sense anyway. Shit I'm too hungry for this, we'll talk about it later." He pointed at Romero once more with an accusing glare. "Bad Ghoul!" he scolded with a wag of finger.

Romero rewarded Kent by sticking his middle finger up at him. "As always, fuck you Kent," he retorted calmly.

Isaac sighed this time. "Please try to be more eloquent with yours swears," he pleaded, "it does little for my reputation."

Romero shrugged. "Please go forth and fuck thyself Kent," he suggested wryly with a taunting twinkle in his olive eyes.

Damsel and I both giggled whilst Kent fumed and Isaac just stared up at the ceiling in despair.

Isaac's stare returned to me once more. "We won't be long," he assured.

I nodded back reassuringly. "I'll be good for the sandcastles," I promised.

Isaac and Kent departed first. Beckett looked at me warningly and said, "do behave yourself young one." With those words he left, deliberately ignoring the scowl Rob offered him.

"Come on Rob she'll be okay," Damsel said as she tugged on Rob's hand.

Rob gave Romero another glare before allowing the Brujah to tug him outside.

"Peace at last," Romero mused as he shut the door. "So, do you need the painkillers or has Beckett's blood done its job?"

"The pain has eased with the crimson nectar," I assured.

"Good." Romero picked up the paper bags and headed towards the kitchen with them.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "It's hard dealing with the voices in this human shell."

"I know kitten," Romero answered calmly, "but you've got to try." He halted and looked at me with a guilty expression. "Is it because I told you to fight the blood control?"

My eyes widened and I shook my head in hasty protest. "No! This was the doing of the master on the web; he believes he will have freedom in my final death. Don't blame yourself. It gets hard with the voices, overcrowded and confusing, too many masters and not enough minions. It was easier when I was a part of the web, more string to carry the burden."

Romero nodded though I could tell he didn't really understand.

"Will you come to build sandcastles?" I queried hopefully.

He cracked a small smile at this. "Of course kitten, I wouldn't miss it for the world and we both know Kent's shit at it, you'll need me there.

I smiled and nodded back happily.


	6. Chapter 5- A Fishy Tale

"Ariadne would you put down the duck already," Kent grumbled under his breath. The poet bristled under the jealous stares we received from passersby as we walked.

"His name is Lord Quacky," I retorted sternly, "and he is happy I liberated him." I clutched Lord Quacky, a handsome, green headed drake, close to my chest with both hands as we walked. Lord Quacky and I had become acquainted just moments ago in the park when I had saved him from being bullied by swans.

"No," Kent snapped, "no naming of the duck. You always get too attached to things when you name them, remember the chinchilla, remember the God damn chinchilla?"

I grinned up at Kent gleefully. "Mister Smudgkins!" I paused in a moment of reflection as I recalled my plump, coal grey friend. "But what happened to him?" I queried sorrowfully.

Kent leaned across me to glower at Romero who walked calmly on the other side, whistling as he carried a bag with the glasses, bowls and spoons that had substituted for buckets and spades. "You don't remember? Say, Romero, remind her," Kent said with a slight sneer.

Romero paused in his whistling and his neck turned a faint crimson. "Er...zealous zombie mistook him for dinner," he admitted quietly.

I let out a wail of despair as the memory returned. I had not witnessed the dreadful deed, it had been left to Isaac to break the news. I remembered my golden eyed lover lamenting that 'the rodent had fallen bravely to a terrible foe' and how I had been devastated when there had been no body to bury. As I recalled, we had instead had a funeral with stones in a matchbox to represent my deceased friend and a three night period of mourning had followed. Ash and VV had complained until Ginger had reminded them that they liked to wear black anyway and Kent had remarked that Ash was in an eternal state of mourning so it would be no trouble for him to add Mister Smudgkins to his list of things to sorrow over.

"You can't have pets, now let the duck go," Kent urged.

"No, he's not a pet," I protested, "he's my new friend and he's quite happy to come with me."

Lord Quacky let out a joyful quack in support of my argument.

Kent halted and gripped my right arm pulling me to a halt. "Look what will happen if you don't let him go." He gestured to the left.

I followed Kent's hand to a glass window full of horrors. I let out a shriek and a cry and Lord Quacky flapped against me and quacked wildly before he escaped and fled from the horror. Naked poultry adorned the window hanging limp and bloody against it.

"Lord Quacky come back!" I cried out as I gave pursuit of my feathered friend.

"Kent you can be a real dick sometimes," I heard Romero grumble before he started running too.

"Stop chasing, it's just a damn duck!" Kent called in despair.

I followed Lord Quacky down several alleyways and side streets passing numerous startled natives. Club goers, students, prostitutes and gang members alike parted with shouts and curses for the duck running by them and the woman who followed. I appreciated that they understood my plight. We passed a building that had the scent of soap and perfume seeping out of it and another block with dance music pounding loudly from it. Temptations were everywhere but I resisted each one and wondered if I might get a bonus crystal for my efforts.

As we ran the noises grew quieter, the streets wider and sparser. Eventually, we reached the warehouse and market district and Lord Quacky finally came to a halt amongst crates and abandoned trucks. He walked up a set of stone steps cautiously to a steel door that stood suspiciously ajar leading into a building marked in blue and yellow font as the Golden Oceans Fish Market. It was the beginning of every good horror film and I wondered what lurked within- masked madman with an axe, wailing woman in white robes or judging by the stench perhaps the vengeful ghost of a dolphin with a net face. The salty odour of dead fish was strong and almost nauseating.

"Very good Lord Quacky," I praised quietly, "you found the fishie." I moved towards him slowly and as I neared the door I became aware of the sounds within of fighting, the battle cries of a young woman and the snarls of a fish demon. It was the fantasy come true of every arcade game player.

"Hang in there Yukie I have some nickels to get you another life," I promised as I checked my pockets for coins.

I was seized suddenly from behind without warning as two arms wrapped about me tightly binding my own arms by my side. "No you don't!" Kent protested crossly.

Lord Quacky let out a startled cry and fled into the building.

"No!" I protested as I started kicking backwards against Kent's legs. "He'll be fish food! Let me go!"

"Stop kicking me!" Kent snarled. "It's just a duck! You have it with noodles!"

I let out a half-choked sob as my eyes turned damp at the thought of Lord Quacky being devoured by the fish monster. I kicked back stubbornly again and again as I tried to wriggle free.

"What's that noise?" Romero quipped coolly. He stood by my side and leaned close to the ajar door with a suspicious look.

"Who the hell cares?" Kent grumbled tiredly. "We built sandcastles and now I need to feed again and I am not chasing after something that belongs in a pancake. OW!" He yelped in pain as I tugged my arms free and drove both my elbows back against his stomach.

Kent staggered back and I seized my opportunity to tug out the samurai short sword concealed in a holster at the side of my jeans beneath my jacket. The sword, a wakizashi, was a gift from Kent who had murmured that swordplay was something I was usually good at save for when I got carried away and, in his words, torn too many things to ribbons.

"I'm coming Lord Quacky!" I cried out as I entered into a large warehouse area that reeked of dead fish. They were mostly packaged in ice boxes save for the few swordfish and sharks that a monstrosity neither fish nor man had decided to rip out to use against the schoolgirl he battled.

Yukie stood half-doubled over and panting hard, sword in one hand, and blood soaking her face and staining her white t-shirt. She looked badass but really she was no match for the ten feet tall shark man that battled her.

"What in the flying fuck is that?!" Kent exclaimed in horror. "My God it stinks in here! God I can almost taste that, that smell better not cling to me."

"Kent worry less about the fish smell and more about shark man," Romero advised calmly.

BANG!

It didn't take the grave guard very long to decide that the shark man must be foe and not friend.

The beast staggered back with an angry cry as a bullet struck its chest and it shook its hammerhead in protest. Sadly the wound did little more than annoy it.

"How does it see?" I wondered as I looked as its yellow eyes curiously. One eye was on the right and one was on the left, divided by a long nose that was shaped like the head of a hammer. It was at once ugly and beautiful like the glittering rainbow poop of a unicorn. "Or breathe? Does not the fishy need the water to survive? We're going to need a bigger boat I think."

Kent let out an angry groan. "Save the references for later," he grumbled as he tugged out his pistols. He ducked and darted to the left in a blur just in time to avoid a flying swordfish. "Hey!" he snapped in annoyance with a gesture to Romero. "He's the one that shot you!"

The shark man let out an angry snarl before plucking up a dogfish.

"Thanks Kent," Romero grumbled. "Not like I can dodge as fast as you." He raised his shotgun again.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Kent and Romero fired unanimously, Romero from the front and Kent from the left, pelting the shark man with bullets.

"His skin is too tough!" Yukie informed us. "I couldn't even scratch it!"

"We need explosives," I suggested gleefully.

"Sure Ariadne just whip out some TNT then," Kent retorted sardonically as he narrowly dodged another fish.

I frowned and murmured, "I would if you hadn't made me stop playing boom boom blow up." The wind suddenly rushed out of me and I let out a cry as swordfish smacked hard into my torso and sent me back to the ground with a grunt as pain flooded through me.

I rolled my eyes backwards as my body was frozen in pain and made out the upside image of Lord Quacky taking refuge in the shade of a crate. With effort I struggled to push the swordfish off but even with the additional strength of a ghoul it was difficult.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

There was the thudding sound of heavy feet charging hard and fast as the shark man took a run at Romero. I made it upright at last and ran to the shark man with a squeal. "Smile you son of a bitch!" I cried out before I rammed the point of my sword hard into its left eye.

The hammerhead reared up as the beast wailed and I let out another yelp as a rough skinned greyish-blue fist caught me hard across the right cheek and sent me back to the hard ground.

BANG! Romero avenged my fresh wounds.

"It's blind now!" I heard Kent cried out before his cold hands ushered me up from the ground swiftly. "Silly kid," he chided, "you're still mortal so take better care, we'll be lucky if you aren't concussed." He hastened me back to Yukie with both hands on my shoulders.

"Let me finish it," Yukie begged, "it killed my master."

The creature had wrenched my sword free and abandoned it to the ground and was now stumbling about chaotically, clutching its ruined eyes with both hands and wailing in pain.

"Sure, take all the credit," Kent said sarcastically.

"Kent don't ruin the story of revenge," I chided. "Now time must slow down and dramatic music should play and then Bill will appear!"

Kent sighed with a shake of his head as he kept a loose grip on my shoulders.

Yukie ran forward suddenly with a dramatic yell. "For my master!" She leaped with her sword raised in both hands and slashed out with it at the creature's throat. It looked impressive right up until the creature's left arm blocked her and jutted outwards, forcing her back fast and sending her flying into a stack of wooden crates.

BANG! BANG! Romero ended it at last by sending two bullets into its open mouth and turning its mouth and throat into bloody chunks.

With a spew of blood and a strangled gasp the creature finally fell dead to the ground. Romero paused to holster his gun before walking over to retrieve my sword. He halted and looked Yukie's way curiously. When the schoolgirl let out a groan of pain he moved in her direction.

"What about Lord Quacky?" I quipped worriedly.

"Is that this thing's name?" a voice queried icily.

Kent's grasp tightened on me suddenly and we turned as one to face the new arrivals. I wished very much that I hadn't. "Crack the egg and devour the knowledge, demon of demons, man who is not man," I murmured.

"Hush Ariadne," Kent bid me quietly but sternly. He moved me to stand behind him in his shadow.

There were three foes that I could see and two that I could not. One unseen to guard the now shut door, one invisible lingering behind us near Romero and Yukie, and three together, two to frame the misshapen knowledge master between them. The Tzimisce creature who held Lord Quacky hostage in its clawed grasp.

" _It seeks the ancients too,_ " the voice purred. " _The Aralu grow popular with the damned._ "

"Here to catch some fish, worm?" Kent queried brazenly.

The Tzimisce let out a frosty chortle at this. "This seems an odd venue choice for you Toreador," he remarked softly. His voice was light and musical, no doubt a beautiful, maddening torment to his victims. "Greasy walls, damp floors and a stench of rot, doesn't such uncleanliness drive you mad?"

Kent tensed and suppressed a shudder but he could not resist raising his hands to rub about his shoulders as if trying to dislodge filth there. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"The mad slave," the Tzimisce answered fiercely.

I stiffened at the word and let out a whimper. "No name, lick the feet for your supper and smile at the whipping," I murmured.

"Wrong kind of market," Kent retorted, "this is for fish not slaves."

"Do not toy with me poet, I would enjoy scarring your pretty face far too much. I seek the slave trembling behind you, the stolen property of my fallen ally Valyrion."

"Master," I choked out, "master is dead but master was always dead."

"He's dust," Kent growled out, "and her owner no more."

"And so his spoils come to me," the Tzimisce replied. "But how do you know he is dead? Was it you that killed him poet? For that there must be punishment." There was a strangled squawk and a snap as Lord Quacky's neck was broken.

I let out an angry scream at the sound just as all hell broke loose.

They came from all directions- claws, teeth, bats and wrenches- two Nosferatu, one Gangrel and two Tzimisce came for us.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The air filled with gunfire that echoed loudly in the warehouse. Romero tried to protect the unconscious Yukie whilst Kent tried to shadow me. I lashed out with my sword but I was far too slow. They were too many and we too few and weak. Even Kent's speed had its limits and he was tired from our battle with the shark man. I wondered how long our new foes had waited for us, suspicious that they had watched our fishy fight, waiting calmly for it to tire us out and make us vulnerable to them.

Claws slashed my left arm to bloody ribbons whilst beetles worried at Kent and a Tzimisce cornered Romero.

I watched in horror as the Tzimisce waved its hands and attempted to perform the discipline they were best known for- the unholy, reshapening of the flesh. Romero let out a scream I did not think him capable of as his right arm twisted and shifted against his will prompting him to drop the shotgun. With another scream he turned from his foe and ran before he was knocked to his knees by the side swiping kick of a Nosferatu and left whimpering and trembling in a ball on the ground. I turned cold at the sight and felt my heart throb against my chest as my throat constricted and helplessness washed over me. I missed the power of the madness then, it could conceal this horror for me and wash insanity over the perpetrators.

I felt the grave guard's pain as his nightmarish memories were made reality, it was a fate I had suffered often. How cruel a bitch fate could often be.

"Stop Dr. Frankenstein!" I pleaded as I ran to the Tzimisce master who now had his clawed hand grasping at Kent's throat.

The Tzimisce was not so tall as Kent but had him bending so that he was beneath him. Kent's pallid hands grasped tightly at the Tzimisce's claws trying and failing to dislodge the hand that gripped his throat so tight it was bleeding.

"I...I..." I stumbled over the words. I wanted to be brave, the knight who saved the day with a noble self-sacrifice but my knees were knocking together. I could taste master's whip cutting across my lips and feel his claws sinking into my skin to brush against bone and twist my form about until I squealed secrets.

He tilted Kent's head up and raised the claws of his left hand above his face. "Say what I want to hear mad slave," he purred at me, "or I will mark the Toreador's pretty face." He pressed a claw down on Kent's nose and stroked at it lightly. "And it is a pretty face, tell me Toreador, am I pretty too?" The Tzimisce gave a ghoulish smile at this.

"I...I..." I stammered.

Kent smiled back mockingly. "No, you're an fucking ugly bitch," he answered merrily.

The claws went down and Kent let out a squeal of pain as five lines raked down in bloody red diagonal streaks across his face.

"Say it slave or I will use my gifts to ensure the marks stay," the Tzimisce vowed.

I dropped to my knees and looked up to the beast for mercy. "Master," I choked out. "I...the wolf is mine now." I could feel master wolf curious and concerned and shut him out. He had perked up an ear upon the first signs of distress from me but I did not want him here. I couldn't have master hurt, such a deed would earn me a thousand punishments!

The Tzimisce sniffed and cocked his head to give me a look of disgust. "Is that the familiar smell you bear filthy bitch? Dog and musty books! Name your master for me, let me hear the truth." He wriggled his bloodstained claws above Kent's face and let the blood drop onto his skin in messy drops.

Kent let out a pitiful groan of disgust and shuddered as his face was stained again.

"Beckett," I confessed. The betrayal stung on my tongue and I waggled in an effort to rid myself of the bitter taste.

The Tzimisce smiled. "My old foe, so he must be near then. I wonder, will he grace me with his presence when I take you? Could he face me for you?"

There was a bang as the metal door was kicked in and then a cloud of smoke as three smoke cannisters were activated but sadly no genie.

"We've found the vampires!" a voice announced dramatically. "Prepare for battle!"

Kent seized his moment to break free from the Tzimisce's grasp and jam his gun close and up into his gut. BANG! He let out a shot deep into the creature's gut tearing away leather and skin.

The Tzimisce staggered back with a grunt as blood seeped out of the wound fast.

This time it was worse than hell, perhaps one of the circles Dante talked about only it wasn't unbaptised babies and greedy Popes but a circle of crossbows, guns and hunters all clad in black.

I had scarcely time to take in this new chaos before gunfire filled the air again and Kent seized me about the waist and dragged me away in a blur. He stopped by Romero and reached down to him tenderly, daring to delay for a surprising moment of compassion.

Kent squeezed the grave guard's right shoulder and leaned down to say, "the nightmare is over Romero. Come on, grab the girl and let's go. Follow me to the back wall, behind the crates and climb up, I'll break a window open."

Kent and I moved again in a blur. I heard the glass shatter but did not feel it, instead I felt the sudden slicing of cold, fresh air as we fell through the smashed window to the hard ground below. Kent tucked me close to him and rolled to lessen the below. We spilled across the pavement ungracefully and before I could catch my breath he had me on my feet again.

He looked anxiously to the broken window and paced about impatiently, his fingers twitching as his hands brushed down his stained leather jacket rapidly. I knew he was fighting the urge to rub at the blood smears on his face and I knew the desire to be clean was going to overwhelm him soon. Toreadors were a prideful clan but Kent had more of an aversion to mess than most.

Romero eventually appeared with a limp Yukie under one arm, he looked down with uncertainty.

"Throw her down!" Kent snapped impatiently.

I smiled and waved encouragingly.

Romero obeyed, tossing Yukie clumsily before he jumped after. As Kent caught the semi-conscious schoolgirl Romero landed in a tuck and roll.

The grave guard stood up with a muttered curse and glanced back to the building with a wary look. "Can we get the fuck out of here now?" he quipped wearily. He had fresh cuts and bruises budding on him and I couldn't resist reaching to touch a swelling lump on his right cheek. He recoiled from me and swatted down my hand.

"Not now," Romero muttered with a hint of unease in his voice.

"Let's head back to Isaac and the others," Kent said, "quick before they follow."

It was easier said than done. Late as it was the streets were still busy forcing Kent to stay at a mortal's speed but as he was carrying a barely conscious schoolgirl he still had to take precautions to stay in the shadows lest someone get the wrong idea. I'm not quite certain what the wrong idea could be, what was so wrong with a vampire carrying a vulnerable schoolgirl who hated demons to a den of strange vampires and ghouls?

We turned a corner and almost collided with Beckett and Isaac. I fell to my knees, placed my hands above my head and cowered. "Don't beat too harshly," I begged. "The monster knows where the wolf dwells, two seekers of knowledge and this poor slave between."

"What happened young one?" Beckett queried calmly.

"Indeed, what happened and who is that?" Isaac asked, his voice calm but full of suspicion.

"Sabbat," Kent spat out hatefully, "some Tzimisce fuck was leading them."

"Master's friend no...old master's friend new master's foe," I babbled with a frustrated shake of my head. "Everyone is linked on the chessboard. I betrayed master, I feared the misshaping." I shuddered.

"Sascha?" Beckett made an intelligent guess as to what I was trying to say.

"We need to get back to base," Kent insisted, "don't want them following us and finding where we sleep at dawn."

I felt the leather of Beckett's gloves press gently against my hands. "Young one I felt your fear and pain, I understand."

"No," I groaned, "I am Judas, I gave you up. I gave you up at promises of pain, I did not try to endure the hurt."

"Hush now little one," he murmured, "the fault is not yours." He let out a soft sigh. "It is not easy dealing with ghouls and I am sorry to have made one of you. Come, we'll go back."

I whimpered and sniffled at his words. "Bad ghoul, bad ghoul," I muttered. "Disappointment, daddy always said, mad little Sarah, quiet now, don't play with blood, don't answer the voices."

Beckett gripped my hands lightly and removed them from my head and urged me to my feet.

We made it to sanctuary and safety just after two in the morning. Yukie was left alone in a single bed to recover in peace whilst Kent fled to the bathroom to deal with his bloody face. An hour passed and eager to relieve my bowels I headed for the bathroom door. Hearing sobbing from within and spying the door ajar I pushed against it gently and peered in.

Kent was seated on the edge of the bath, both hands rubbing at his face frantically in a blur of movement as he sobbed. There was already a collection of bloodstained towels and cloths gathering at his feet but the bleeding had not ceased.

I lingered awkwardly in the doorway for a moment unsure what to say until I sensed someone else beside me.

"Let me by," Romero ordered quietly.

I obediently stepped to one side, allowing Romero to open the door fully and step into the room. "Jesus Kent you're making it worse," Romero chided quietly. He halted before the vampire and reached out to his hands. It took him a few tries before he caught the speedily moving hands. He held them fast and tugged them down.

Kent's face was still scratched and now the skin around the wounds was blistered and red from Kent's rubbing at it. "I'm ugly," he choked out, "and messy, and I can't clean it! God I keep trying to clean it but then the towels get dirty, so much dirt and blood," he lamented.

Romero let out a laboured sigh and lowered Kent's hands to his lap. "Let me do it then," he offered. He turned to the sink, snatched up the remaining cloth there and ran it under the tap for a moment.

I was transfixed, caught between wanting to help and yet not wanting to disturb. I wondered if Kent might only grow embarrassed if I entered.

Romero turned his attention back to Kent and reached out with the cloth, dabbing it gently along the scratches. "It's healing fine," he assured, "by tonight it will be gone and you'll be your usual pretty asshole self again."

"Are you sure?" Kent snapped as he looked at the ghoul anxiously.

"Certain," Romero assured. He leaned closer to Kent to scrutinise the wounds as he mopped up fresh blood, letting the cloth linger where the wounds were deeper. "You didn't tell Isaac I lost my shit," Romero murmured.

"No," Kent murmured, "but why should I? It wasn't your fault, we were ambushed."

Romero shook his head. "One attack from that thing and it all came flooding back and I was useless. I lost Jaime Sue, he's noticed that but he's not prying yet."

"He won't either," Kent retorted, "Isaac knows better. Don't beat yourself up over it Romero, I lost it too, those Tzimisce fucks, well we've both got an ugly past with them..." He tensed and suppressed a shudder.

I felt like I was intruding watching the pair, this moment between them was odd- no insults, no gripes or arguments, rather a moment of understanding. I saw the pieces of a jigsaw but could not quite slot them together. Kent was always so annoyed at Romero and I...I'd never really understood why...

Kent leaned up and turned his head slightly but Romero withdrew. Kent's eyes filled with hurt and he scowled. "Aren't I ugly then?" he queried savagely. "Why then do you withdraw?"

"You know why," Romero retorted hotly. He looked my way at last.

Kent followed his gaze and for the first time I saw envy in the poet's grey eyes. "Pretty, mad, little Ariadne," he addressed me bitterly, "who can compete with you? Who watched him while you were gone hmm? Who kept the grave guard company while you dwelled in mortal misery?"

"It was one night," Romero protested as his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassed memory.

I didn't know what to say and for a moment even the voices were silent.

"I need to pee," I piped up at last.

Kent let out a snarl of frustration before pushing Romero back and standing upright. "I'll clean it myself," he snapped. He rushed past me so fast I felt a wind blowing back my hair and then Kent was gone from us.

Romero sighed and rubbed at the back of his head awkwardly with his right hand. "Kitten I don't know what to say."

I gave the grave guardian a sweet smile. "You understand my sharing of graveyard beds and baron coffins, why should I complain?" I retorted.

Romero gave a half-smile at this. "Right, well I'll let you...er...you know." He stepped out of the bathroom.

I stopped him in the doorway and leaned up to give him a reassuring kiss on the cheek. "If you like him it's okay," I assured softly, "I will not turn green."

"I er...I didn't...I mean..." Romero shuffled off awkwardly. "He's still a pretentious dick."

I stepped into the bathroom, shut the door and gave into a mortal need. For a brief moment I was fine, at peace at last but then I rose to wash my hands and found a horror looking back from the mirror.

I do not know when the screams started or how long they lasted for. I did not even realise I was cut until my hands slipped along the damp floor and I saw red. There were shards beneath me. The mirror was broken but I could not recall when or how.

"Young one calm down." As if a switch had been flicked I calmed and quietened at Beckett's words. I realised then that I was on my knees on the bathroom floor, smeared in blood once more and taunted by a hundred tiny reflections. " _But no image is the true one_ ," the voice mocked.

"What happened?" Beckett queried.

I tried to recall and a shriek of fear erupted from me before I could help it. "In the mirror, the reflection of evil! Dead master! Come to enslave again, to drag me to the seeker to crack the head for answers."

"Ariadne it must be a trick of your mind," Isaac piped up gently. "Perhaps a reaction to the events earlier."

"He killed Lord Quacky," I wailed, "one snap of the neck. If it were so easy but I survive the pain, I linger on."

I felt Beckett's leather gloves gripping me, pulling me up and away from the shards. I felt his glowing eyes upon me, studying me curiously and quickly. "Mild scratches, nothing serious," he murmured. "A dose of my blood and it will heal with the rest."

I let out a groan of pain. "He will chase the mad mind until he wins, he wants the old dead in the desert."

"We can talk of that this evening," Isaac said gently, "you need to go to bed and rest."

"Not alone," I begged, "please. Let me stay with one of you, so that if they come you will feel the claws snatching and hold me steadfast. Please, please."

"Of course," Isaac assured with a tender smile. He reached out and drew me from Beckett and pulled me close against him. He ran his hand down through my hair before stiffening slightly. "Ariadne you're shaking," he said in horror, "please calm down, I won't let them harm you, I swear."

I burrowed against the baron, desperate to believe him but it was hard. I knew too well what the Tzimisce were capable of.

"Perhaps we should find more comfortable confines?" Beckett suggested dryly.

"Indeed," Isaac agreed.

The baron manoeuvred me with him until we were in the living room and seated upon a couch. There I stayed shaking and burrowed against him, terrified that when the dawn came I would be alone and vulnerable.

"Perhaps a tale to take your mind off things," Beckett offered. He sat on the single chair opposite, ever the loner.

"A tale?" Isaac echoed.

"It's not something I usually indulge in," Beckett admitted, "but I feel her fear and find it very distracting, ending it will help us both."

"Sorry," I mumbled, "sorry master wolf, sorry, sorry."

"Young one I did not say it to upset you further," Beckett retorted, "do not apologise. Anyway, let's see er...Once Upon A Time, isn't that what you like?"

I perked up at this and turned my head from the Baron's grey shirt to look at Beckett hopefully. "There was dinosaur?" I queried hopefully.

"Quite so," Beckett agreed.

"And where did he live?"

"In a Creataous jungle of Cycaeoidea, Podocarpus-"

"You're not good at this are you?" Isaac interrupted sardonically.

I stifled a giggle at Isaac's mockery and Beckett's offended gaze.

"I am not a storyteller," Beckett retorted defensively.

"Have you no experience with any stories?" Isaac questioned.

"No," Beckett grumbled, "I deal with facts not fables."

"A jungle of tall trees and rivers and unicorns," I decided, eager to continue with the tale.

"Oh now really," Beckett protested, "where do I begin?"

"You've already begun," Isaac reminded him.

"I meant with pointing out all the flaws with unicorns," Beckett retorted moodily.

"It's a story Beckett," Isaac reminded him. He sank back in the seat and pulled me with him to lie back against his chest comfortably. It was cold and no heart beat there nor did it rise with breathing unless he chose to fake it, it should have been unnerving but I found it comforting as it brought back many memories of being in the Baron's embrace. I was safest here and the voices were always silent here.

"I am not telling a story about dinosaurs and unicorns," Beckett huffed as he folded his arms and scowled.

"Please," I pleaded, "I like it already master wolf."

Beckett frowned at me. "Oh alright," he gave in, "but I will deny it. Once upon a time there was a dinosaur in a jungle with a unicorn, which is utterly ridiculous and completely impossible but I digress."

"What was the dinosaur's name?"

"What?"

"His name?" I demanded.

"Who said it was a he?" he retorted moodily.

"It is," I insisted.

"Young one I see now why people insist your madness is contagious," he grumbled. "Alright, his name is...Bill."

"Bill?" Isaac echoed. I could sense his grin without needing to see it.

"And what name would you suggest?" Beckett queried heatedly.

"What kind of dinosaur is it?" Isaac pried.

"A bloody Allosaurus alright!" Beckett snapped. "No more interruptions, his name is Bill damn it!"

"And the unicorn?" I piped up quietly.

"Fred!"

I smiled and snuggled up against Isaac, shutting my eyes as I let poor Beckett attempt to continue his storytelling.

* * *

 _No excuses, the ideas are always there but it's hard to get them out sometimes. I love writing Kent :-) I've been hinting at him and Romero for a while now. I also like Beckett the Storyteller. And poor Lord Quacky._


	7. Chapter 6- Home

Home. I froze up as I looked up at the light and glitz that tried to take attention from the smut and drugs. Sluts in silk dresses grasped the trembling hands of over indulged models. Everyone tried to play young and pretty regardless of the steep cost.

There on the left, The Asp Hole, where I had started a conga line to liven up the place. Ash had been cross, I think he was just jealous he couldn't get the street dogs to dance with him. Out of sight down a long strip of road to the left were the studios for the low budget movies. After Kent had cruelly thrown out my pet stone Bobbit because he had mistook his eye for bird poop he had taken me there as an apology and helped me build sandcastles on a fake beach. Down the hills was a romantic pond hidden by a cluster of trees where Romero and I often did the horizontal dance and occasionally a vertical one against the trees, and a damp doggy styled one in the pond. It was the site of the unsolved murders of teenagers two years ago, which kept it all the more private for us. Not far from where we stood was the cinema that played old movies exclusively, nothing newer than the 1950s. Isaac and I had shared many a date there, feeding on college students forced to come for studies whilst we debated whether Casablanca or Planet 9 was the best movie made.

"Ariadne?" Isaac's deep, smooth voice called to me curiously. Ariadne, the mad girl who had found home here. Sarah's home had been by the beach for a time in Santa Monica where the Janus sisters held supremacy.

Ariadne, Sarah, slave, young one. I twitched, too many identities and I did not have the space for them anymore, the Malkavian had the web to spread the madness on but I had only my small shell and it was already quite crowded.

" _Just kill yourself_ ," the voice commented sullenly, " _and see us both free._ " It was blunt for the voice, the joy was fading for anger.

"Home?" I wondered aloud. I wanted a home and an identity. "I miss home."

"You mean Santa Monica?" Rob queried softly. He stepped beside me and looked at me curiously.

I stared up at him and smiled sadly. "I miss riding bikes by the beach and daddy trying to fly kites, great birds in the sky to peck out the children's eyes. I smell mother making bad soup in the kitchen, red soup, bloody soup."

Rob sighed. "You almost had me there," he grumbled. "Dad flew a kite with us once because your goldfish died and mum insisted he did something about it but otherwise that man was never fun, he was serious, a businessman through and through and mum..." He paused and looked confused for a moment. "Bloody soup, ah shit I get it now, the Bloody Mary punch she made one night." He smiled and shook his head. "That's right, stupid kid you did think it was soup and you took a huge gulp of it. You were so sick."

Kent snickered softly at this.

"I missed tinsel town," I murmured, "walking the zombies, and playing hide and seek with Ash, and treasure hunting in the volcano and...and..."

" _The way of the king that led to the key and the cripplings_."

"Mutilation and betrayal," I murmured quietly. "Then it was rejection to the tall towers and the jester prince. So many abodes but no home."

Kent slung his right arm over my shoulders and drew me close. "Kid home is with us," he assured me, "sure we fell out but family do that. Come on, I kept your button collection safe."

I glanced up at him curiously. "What about the turquoise one with the ruby enamel?"

Kent looked down at me scornfully. "For the last time kid that's not ruby it's a bloodstain and the silver one is just an ordinary button wrapped in tinfoil but yes, they're safe."

"Where? I hid them well!"

Kent started marching me up the street with him. "Kid putting them in Ash's boots is not hiding them."

"Goblin thieves would not look in smelly vampire boots," I pointed out.

We walked part of the way together as an odd group before Damsel and Rob dismissed themselves to feed and seek sanctuary in their rented accommodation. It was a modest apartment Isaac paid the bill for, kept purposefully for guests. Until my liberation the rebel redhead and my canine brother had spent their time Downtown trying to build an unlife together as Anarchs.

"Where are we going?" Yukie queried nervously. The young would be warrior had come at my insistence and Kent's blunt comment that she was liable to get herself killed if she stayed in Chinatown. She was known to the Tzimisce now and I feared torture by association for her if we left her behind.

Yukie limped, laboured by wounds and had rejected Kent's offer of blood to heal her, adamant that the medicinal herbs she had picked up from The White Cloud before leaving would do the job. I didn't blame her, who wanted to be forced into an infatuation with Kent?

"Ooh shiny things!" I enthused as we reached The Golden Age Jewellery. I pulled Kent up to the shop front windows of the jeweller's and eyed the latest treasures. They advertised being inspired by the myth of Theseus. There were bracelets with bull heads at the end of them, necklaces with pendants with mazes carved into them, and tiaras fashioned to be as Ariadne's coronet. It was a tasteful display with paintings of the princess and her trustful ball of string, paintings that looked oddly familiar.

"I had them commissioned," Isaac informed me quietly, "based on my memories of you."

"Ah history turned into fanciful myth," Beckett remarked in his typical dour tone, "fairytales for those who can't appreciate the truth."

"Poor Asterion," I mused, "locked in the labyrinth to moo forever."

"Yes...moo," Kent commented sardonically. "Hey Beckett what's your take on the half-man, half-cow?"

"Fiction," Beckett answered bluntly.

"Not so," I chirped up happily, "you can still hear his sad moos on the Cretan seas at night."  
"Can we go inside already?" Romero grumbled. "It's cold out here."

He was right, it was and only at his words did I realise I was suffering the mortal side effects of chilly weather- goosebumps. I looked at my bare arms curiously and began to count the tiny bumps budding there. "One little bumpy, two little bumpy, three little bumpy."

"Christ let's go," Kent grumbled before he tugged me down the alleyway to the side door.

Isaac did the honours of unlocking it and granting us entry to his office. He led the way through to the living dead area behind it.

"My snowglobes!" I enthused as I broke from Kent to run to the snowglobe collection on the wooden shelving standing against the wall near the television.

"Is she to stay with you?" Beckett queried curiously.

I looked over to Beckett with a curious expression as I fondled with a snowglobe of a tortoise with sunglasses. "But master wolf cannot stray!" I exclaimed. I wanted to be with Isaac again but I couldn't lose master. I stepped forward, torn and conflicted as I looked from one to the other.

"You can both stay," Isaac offered. "It will be safer staying together, we do not know the depths of the Sabbat threat."

"If Sascha is involved he won't relent," Beckett murmured.

I shuddered. "Mind melder, mind raper, wants to steal the thoughts of the resting ancient."

Beckett gave me an odd look. "A story I wouldn't mind hearing."

"Story?" I looked at him hopefully.

Beckett gave me a tight, sardonic smile and shook his head. "Not tonight. I will go and find a suitable Kine to grant me the nourishment we all depend upon for substance and then I shall return here."

"In other words you need to feed," Kent sneered at him.

"You're terribly blunt for a Toreador," Beckett scorned him.

"And you're terribly boring for a Gangrel," Kent argued back.

"Not so, master wolf tells very interesting stories," I snapped defensively.

Kent glowered back at me. "Look at you all loved up with blood. Beckett knows he's a boring bastard, don't worry, he's happiest reading dull facts about dead kings."

I let out a feral snarl in anger. "He knows about dinosaurs, dinosaurs are never boring!"

Beckett let out a low snicker at this. "Alright young one, I do not need you to defend me. It's quaint the Toreador puts the effort into insulting me when I think he is worth no effort at all."

Kent looked at Beckett in confusion before wrinkling his brow slightly. He knew he had been offended he just did not know how.

"Go find a bookworm, scholar," Kent grumbled sullenly.

"I'm sure that one stung Kent," Romero taunted.

Kent glowered over at him and I saw an intense spark burn in Kent's grey gaze as he met the grave guard's olive stare. Romero kept his expression impassive as his mouth twitched, fighting back a small smile.

"I think I shall," Beckett murmured. He looked at me calmly. "Be good young one and don't go far."

I nodded enthusiastically. "I will sit and wait for master's return. Bring biscuits."

Beckett nodded before he exited from the building, bypassing the curious Yukie who was glancing around the room taking in every detail.

"Where can I sleep?" Yukie queried.

"With Heather," Kent retorted.

"Now there's an image," Romero blurted out before he could help himself.

Kent grinned at this and nodded. "Quite the image," he mused, "but not what I meant."

"Must you lower yourselves to petty perversion?" Isaac lamented as he glowered from one to the other.

"Who's Heather?" Yukie quipped as she folded her arms and looked at Kent quizzically.

"My ghoul," he answered with a hint of pride.

"Could have been mine, now we are of the same species," I murmured woefully. "Fiery hued daughter of the morbid poet. Where is the purple shrub?"

"In my apartment probably," Kent answered.

"Your apartment?" Yukie repeated with a look of disgust. "Iie! I am not staying in the home of shi!"

Kent shrugged. "Sleep on the streets for all I care."

"Kent," Isaac scorned him with a golden glower. He turned a calm, polite look on Yukie. "I am Baron here and while you are in my domain you will be safe and you will have good accommodations."

"Best not the hatter's home," I mused, "misfortunes and canines often linger under that star."

"Yeah one of those canines was your brother," Kent scorned. "Anyway, I need to go and feed before sunrise so I bid you all a goodnight. Yukie if you change your mind it's the apartment block opposite the Luckee Star Motel, second floor, 202b, just knock twice."

Yukie raised her hands to her hips and frowned at the poet. "I do not play perversions with demons."

"So you play perversions?" Romero quipped unwisely. He raised his hands in mock self-defence at the look of burning ire Yukie gave him and Isaac's gaze of scorn. "Sorry, just a question."

Kent laughed. "You're a little young for me and Heather scratches every itch I have quite satisfactorily." His grey gaze darted to Romero again before he gave a smug nod. "Kid," he addressed me brightly, "stay good for one night. I'll see you all tomorrow." Without waiting for a reply he hastened from the building in a blur.

It took Yukie half an hour before she dismissed herself to seek sanctuary. She grudgingly accepted a mobile phone from Isaac, alluded to considering sleep near Kent's apartment, and promised to unite with us tomorrow evening. That left Isaac, Romero and myselves.

"Morning draws near," the Baron mused.

Romero glanced tiredly at his watch. "Couple of hours, so where am I staying?" he quipped. He looked from the Baron to me and then back to the Baron. His olive gaze was weary but curious and I felt the conflict of emotions in it. How very Toreador...but then he was the ghoul of one, poor grave guard, slave to the emotional clan.

"Here if you desire," Isaac retorted softly, "or your shack if you wish or..." He paused and glanced at me delicately. "Or wherever you would go," he concluded carefully. "All I require is a feed before you depart."

Romero sighed. "Alright, do I get a taste in return?" He looked at Isaac hopefully.

I felt odd seeing the fanged smile Isaac answered with as he moved forward. The Baron was swift, gentle but without charm or seduction. He took the grave guard by his shoulders before sinking his teeth hard in the left side of Romero's neck.

I turned away in revulsion. Once I had been predator just as the Baron was but now I was prey like Romero, worse we were blood-bound prey, a blood doll, a slave, an ever serving, willing donation to the wolf master should he howl for it.

Romero gave a low moan of pleasure and I knew he was receiving his thanks. Blood for blood. It caused a growl to escape from me. I was mortal but still bound to the call of blood and yet they all wondered why I was still mad. I thought of the ruby droplets linking the historian and I, and I thirsted. I wanted a taste too, I wanted to feel that heat and power, to feel Beckett and his feral clan roll through me, to feel a part of the blood chain again. I shuddered, no I wanted free did I not? Free of the blood bonds and the masters and the dark world of Kindred! Then I might be alone...without the voices, the tormentor on the web...without Isaac, Beckett, Romero, Rob, Kent and the others.

"Ariadne?"

I flinched at Isaac's fingertips brushing away a tear, they were warm with Romero's blood. I looked past him to Romero. The grave guardian was slumped on a couch in a happy delirium, he would not be fit for guarding for another few minutes.

"I do not want to be eaten," I murmured fearfully.

Isaac followed my gaze before he looked back at me with a tender concern. "I will never feed on you," he vowed, "unless you wish it."

"Because it can be a pleasure," I recalled, "bloody kisses on the lips."

Isaac stiffened slightly, he was easily flustered by vulgar or sexual talk, ironic given his closest companions were a former drug addict who ran a night club, and the mistress of a strip club. "You're mortal now, it will be different," he remarked calmly, "but we will figure it out."  
"For how long?" I pondered. "This one ages, crone like soon whilst the Baron stays unchanging."

Isaac chortled at this, disguising his worry through laughter. "You are young still Ariadne with many years ahead of you, let us not worry about any of that now." He embraced me close, kissed me lightly on the brow and then gripped my right hand lightly in his own. "Let us go to sleep, it's been too long since I embraced you in a slumber."

I eyed his fangs warily. "No sleep eating," I warned.

He looked at me, puzzled for a moment before he smiled again and nodded. "It is not a habit I am prone to," he assured. "Now you are...mortal, should we attempt a bed?"

I had never been held by Isaac in a bed, he was a traditionalist and kept to a coffin in the basement. Alright, it was a modified basement of red velvet carpet, expensive paintings adorning the walls and false electric torches in scones between them and the coffin was larger than necessary and lined inside with plump velvet and silk cushions. I thought of it, it should have terrified me but it meant security, hidden away, sealed away, safely secured with Isaac, a place no one should look for a lowly ghoul and if they did find me there they could not take me without the Baron noticing.

"No," I answered, "your coffin is safe."

Isaac's smile brightened as he led me to the basement.

* * *

 _Four sarcophagi. Four sandcastles. Dead in the desert. Build homes for the bones. I crouched in the shadows of the ancient stone prisons and shuffled the sand into place. Without a bucket and spade it was difficult. Take the bucket and spade, if you build a nice enough one I'll leave you alone. Wasn't that what he said? No chicken it's not quite big enough, you owe me a kiss. Nope, not tall enough, let me hold your hand. Now remember little chick, no squawking about this or I'll break your spades. You forgot the shells, tut, tut, what do we owe for that?_

I awoke in darkness. I couldn't move. I couldn't see. I turned and felt a terrible coldness beside me, a form stiff and silent, a body! My throat tightened and I reached up, fumbling through darkness for salvation. My hands met wood suddenly and I realised I was trapped. No, trapped, strapped, waiting for the injections. Daddy I'm not mad, I'm not! Take me to the beach Rob, I don't care if it's raining, the beach is safe, he watches but he does not come. The beach is fun. The wolf watched on the beach. The wolf saw the lost princess even before he was master. Always watching, always observing, always studying and learning.

BANG! BANG! BANG! I thumped hard at the wood. Over and over with both my fists until the wood splintered and my hands bled. It shuddered twice and I glimpsed a crack of light. BANG! BANG! It rose up at last and I with it, forcing it further up and back until it, a coffin lid, was swinging free on one side.

My chest was tight and I struggled for breath as I swung my legs over the edge of the coffin and stumbled to the carpeted floor. I staggered for the stairs, gasping as I started to run up them.

The door above swung open when I was only halfway up.

"Jesus Christ what's going on?" Romero's voice called down tiredly. He let out a soft 'whoomph' noise when I collided with him with a sob. "Shit Sarah what happened?" he queried as he struggled to steady me against him.

"Sandcastles in the dead desert, never big enough, no shells in the desert, he won't be satisfied, he won't!"

"Alright, I have no idea what that means so I'm going to assume you either had a nightmare or are suffering one of your usual bouts of craziness, either way it's over now so just take a deep breath."

He rubbed his hand up and down my spine gently whilst his other hand burrowed in my tangled ebony locks and pressed my head against his chest. He was warm unlike the other, alive and breathing. The other...

"Baron," I murmured worriedly. "No, the sun!" I tried to pull away from Romero but he restrained me.

"Easy crazy cat," he chided me, "there are no windows down there so the Baron and wolfman are fine."

Wolfman. I turned my head away to peer back down to the basement. I spied poor Isaac exposed to the world, unconscious and still as a statue. Opposite his coffin was another still sealed up, smaller and plainer, it was one of four reserved for guests. I peered at it curiously and felt a faint tug from within. Yes, master wolf was there and probably dreaming of sheep.

Romero held me a few seconds longer until my heartbeats slowed and my breathing steadied. "Alright, you go to the living room," Romero advised, "and I'll go shut Isaac's coffin, otherwise he'll wake up cranky." He released me and began his descent to the basement.

I found my lips dry and licked them twice before I headed to the living room. In the room the edges of the windows were golden as the morning light tried to intrude. The curtains were thick and heavy keeping the room mostly in twilight and I found myself unable to make out the time of the clock on the wall. I contemplated hitting a light but resisted the urge, instead I stumbled to the three seated couch and sat on the edge. The couch was warm and indented, evidently the grave guardian had been sleeping here.

He entered moments later and flicked on the dreaded light.

I let out a snarl of revulsion as my eyes squinted at him hostilely.

"You've really got to work on the growling," Romero chided tiredly. He gave a yawn and strode into the room before pausing to inspect me. He folded his arms and frowned. "You're bleeding crazy cat, think maybe you should wash that up?"

I looked down at my bloodstained hands and wiped them on my trouser legs. "Only a prickling," I grumbled.

"Yeah, only a prickling until someone with a dramatic flair sees and scolds me for a potential fatal injury," Romero commented sardonically. "Come on, up you get, we're going to the kitchen." He gestured an up motion with his right hand.

I snarled again before complying reluctantly. I stomped into the kitchen behind Romero, letting him feel my crankiness with heavy footsteps and a laboured breathing.

"Seriously that Gangrel temper is annoying," he chided me when we reached the kitchen. He hunted through a cupboard for medical supplies and then shuffled me over to the kitchen sink. There he soaked my hands under the tap before splashing some antiseptic liquid on the wounds that drew squeals of pain from me.

"Shrieking like I've stabbed you," Romero chided, "and yet I'm the one with Toreador influence." He tutted and shook his head before wrapping gauze about my wounds.

"Charmed by a poet's tongue," I teased as I smiled at the bandages. "Did it taste as sweet as it sounded?"

"Er...can we not," Romero answered awkwardly. He released my hands and I extended them happily, proud of their new decorations.

"Ugh...argh I want pharaoh brains!"

Romero frowned at me and arched a dark eyebrow. "So mummies are Egyptian zombies now?" he quipped sarcastically. "Isn't that a little racist?"

"Well then I want organs to resurrect dead princesses!"

"Um...okay..." Romero tidied up the medic supplies before striding over to the large, double doored fridge/freezer combo.

Isaac's kitchen was large, modern and full of expensive, underused equipment and utensils. Like everything Toreador it was more about appearance than practicality.

"Are you hungry crazy cat?" Romero queried.

I paused as I contemplated the notion. "Yes," I decided. Feeding was an odd notion for me, perhaps because hunger was something I had rarely been allowed to indulge and I ate from necessity not desire. "Are there pancakes?" I queried hopefully.

"Ever since Isaac learned they were your favourite." Romero shut the fridge and moved to a large cupboard, tugging it open to show numerous stacks of sealed up pancakes in many varieties- blueberry, chocolate chip, white chocolate chip, maple syrup infused, buttermilk based, strawberry, apple, cinnamon and vanilla. "And every topping imaginable to go with them," Romero scorned. "Oh and batter mix and eggs and flour and milk and butter in case you preferred them home made." He sighed and shook his head. "Toreadors, never do things by halves do they. For your information I don't bake, best I can do is chuck a couple in the toaster for you."

"Can I have ice-cream with them?" I queried eagerly with a hopeful stare.

"If you must."

I nodded eagerly.

Romero opened a stack of chocolate chip pancakes at my request and put four into the toaster before hunting out vanilla ice-cream. He served two, slightly burnt at the edges, pancakes for each of us along with a mediocre scoop of ice-cream as the scoop would not comply with the frozen solid dessert.

He carried the plates and cutlery into the living room and we occupied the couch together. Romero offered my plate to me before resting his on the coffee table along side an abandoned cup of coffee with two cigarettes stubbed out in it.

"Don't tell him I smoked in here," he said as he picked up the television remote.

I nodded as I tucked into breakfast. Once satiated I snuggled up beside the grave guard to watch a low budget black and white zombie film.

"They always get the wails wrong," Romero complained as he tugged the turquoise blanket from the back of the couch and drew it up over us, "it's never so drawn out."

"They think we are lunatics that eat flies and birds," I murmured.

"Well you are a lunatic," he retorted before kissing the crown of my head and wrapping his arms about my torso, "and Beckett might well eat birds. I suspect your brother's good for eating cats too," he joked.

"The Sabbat do it," I remarked darkly. "Dead master would pull their wings off and leave me their chirping bodies for food if I was good. If I was bad, squished maggots."

Romero squeezed me gently. "Yeah they're mean fucks," he said candidly. "Let's watch the movie."

I slept in the grave guardian's gentle grasp until sundown when the inane chatter of the proud vain vampires of Hollywood awoke me. I stirred, startled at the noises until the warm arms of Romero gave me a soft squeeze of reassurance. We were on the couch, a point of interest to the bickering Toreadors who crowded the living room.

"Isaac I'm glad for you that you found her," V.V's sympathetic voice rang out, "but surely in this...condition she is a danger to us."

V.V, Velvet Velour, her name came in a rush to me, false like her voice and her hair and her body, all unnatural. Susan, that was the true nature, like a daughter to the Baron, she wore the facade of a tough stripper but inside she was as simpering and emotional as the majority of her clan. What she lacked in physical strength she made up for in manipulation, using her body and voice to seduce and bewitch.

"Condition?" Kent scoffed. "She's not pregnant V.V." He paused and I sensed him shudder in revulsion. "Fuck there's an image," he groaned.

There was a loud bang as a door was forced open dramatically. I tensed against Romero, ever wary of intruders.

"Dead phoenix comes to see the miracle," I murmured quietly.

"Is it true?! Where is she?! How is it possible?!"

There was a blur before us, a cry of protests and suddenly I was snatched up from Romero without warning and forced against a wall. I let out a squeal of protest and felt myself quake with a sudden fear.

"Christ Ash what are you doing?" Kent complained.

I blinked and realised that it was not a Tzimisce that held me but the woeful Toreador, Ash Rivers instead. I should have felt relief but the intensity of his dark blue eyes kept me afraid. Ash was the failed child of Isaac, drugs drove him to an early mortal death that Isaac sought to save him from with damnation. Ash had returned the gift of immortality with loathing and rejection.

He grasped at my chin with an icy hand and jerked my head about until I was dizzy with the effort. "How did you do it?!" he snapped in a fury. "How?! Why you?! Why the hell is it always you?! You don't deserve it! You never wanted it! TELL ME HOW DAMN IT!"

Ash was wrenched back from me and thrown across the room ungracefully.

Beckett occupied Ash's space, flattened the collar of his tan coat and shook his head scornfully at Ash's groaning form. "Do not harm my ghoul again," Beckett said calmly.

"Your ghoul," Ash groaned as he sat up and shook his head, all the while glaring heatedly at me. "Well that explains the stench of wet dog."

I let out a snarl at the insult whilst Beckett chuckled. "Timber wolf actually," he corrected in his usual sardonic tone, "and it is a more pleasant odour than the stench of cheap alcohol and shame that clings to you, young Toreador."

Isaac stepped in between the two just as Ash prepared to snap back an insult. "Alright, that's enough." He turned his attention to Ash, reaching to help him from the floor.

As expected, Ash rejected the help and stood up himself. He dusted down his navy suit and glowered at us all again. "She's still a freak then," he snarled, "and an undeserving bitch. Why is she human Isaac? Why?"

I stepped away from the wall and looked past Beckett to the fallen phoenix. There were tears budding in his eyes. "I'm sorry," I said weakly. It was the wrong thing to say.


	8. Chapter 7- Dinner Date

"Kid?"

The voice was familiar but fuzzy and faint. Everything was spinning, I was lost in darkness and all I could feel was a blinding hot pain. I glimpsed something to the left, there in the distance was the faint grey silhouettes of four ancient sarcophagi. I felt the dangerous power calling from them, in slumber for now but not forever. I did not want to go any closer to it.

"Kid!"

I reached for that voice desperately and tried to call back to it but when my mouth opened to yell only silence came out. I was falling closer to the slumbering ancients and I could feel their terrible hunger, they would devour this poor morsel blood, body and bones.

I saw red, glorious, damp, warm and nourishing red. I tasted it, the hot, humming blood of vampire and beast, the soothing odour of master pulling me back from the darkness and tugging me up along the blood link that bound us to one another.

"The more blood you give her the harder it will be to wean her off," the deadpan warning of the graveyard ghoul. I could smell the dirt of the graves on him, a dusty odour of the dead that always clung to him.

"She is bleeding internally in her brain, would you rather I left her to that fate?" master wolf queried coolly.

"No...I'm just sayin'."

I opened my eyes wearily, everything tingled now, a warm numbness neither pleasant nor horrid.

Three pale fingers were thrust into my vision. "How many fingers am I holding up kid?" Kent, my Toreador brother though he would never admit to it. His voice sounded desperate, anxious even. Since he, Beckett and Romero, my odd trinity of saviours, had rescued me from the Tzimisce he had shown a lot more worry for me than before. Was it because I was mortal now? Was it guilt? I recalled Romero telling me to advise Kent if I forgave him or not for scaring me off into Santa Monica, running straight into the hands of a daddy who didn't understand.

I grasped at one finger. "This little piggy went to market," I said before grabbing the second, "this little piggy stayed at home and," I grabbed the third, "this little piggy had roast beef." I paused and sighed. "No more piggies."

"Three kid," Kent grumbled as he frowned down at me, "just say three."

I grinned up at him happily, my eyes darting from him to Romero and to Beckett. "I had the strangest dream and you weren't there," I said to Kent before I looked to Romero, "and you weren't there either," and then I looked to Beckett, "and you weren't there either and it was very dull until the Aralu tried to feed on me."

Beckett looked at me with a burning curiosity as Kent helped me into a sitting position. "You keep mentioning them, why?" Beckett queried calmly.

"I keep seeing them," I murmured, "the mad master wants to feed them, maybe they can put him back on the web or free him from it entirely."

"Who are they?" Kent pried.

"Supposedly they are four ancients who sleep beneath Enoch in the Tempest," Beckett explained.

"You say those words like we're meant to understand," Romero complained, "you're always doing that."

"The first city, the ghost city," I replied.

Kent sighed. "You're meant to be a Gangrel ghoul now," he scolded me, "stop with the crazy."

I grinned back at him wolfishly. "I'm hungry can I have a bloody steak?"

"And there's the Gangrel," Kent answered sardonically.

I glanced about our surroundings at last, we were in a small sitting area, a room in Isaac's bode rarely visited by myself. As such it was dim and dull, decorated with boring fusty paintings of dead women and men. "Where are Isaac and Ash?" I pondered.

"Still having a discussion in the living room," Kent replied tactfully.

Romero let out a grunt at this. "Discussion my ass, that melodramatic dickhead could have killed her with that punch."

"Big word for you," Kent mocked him.

Romero gave him a biting grin. "I'm learning."

"Ash just isn't used to Ariadne being a mortal," Kent reminded him.

"Don't defend him," Romero retorted heatedly with a shake of his head.

"I'm not, I think he's a dickhead too but he is still part of our fucked up family here, you know as well as anyone Isaac loves him like a son, that complicates things."

Romero sighed. "I know," he muttered.

"Anyway," Kent said as he turned his attention back to me and pulled me to my feet, "you said you're hungry, let's go out for dinner. Of course you'll need to change first, I'm not taking you anywhere like this."

"You're taking me for dinner?" I squealed as I clapped my hands in delight. "Oh can I have profiteroles?"

"Dinner first," Kent scorned. "If you promise to attempt normality we can go somewhere nice. First though, you need to scrub up, come on, Isaac has a room for you upstairs." He pulled me along without waiting for a word from Romero or Isaac, guiding me down a corridor and up the stairs into a large bedroom where many of my former belongings had been moved.

Kent left me to get reacquainted with my beloved trinkets and treasures though he warned me he would give me only an hour and advised that there was an en-suite bathroom to use. I was disappointed to see that my wardrobe was not how I remembered and suspected that Isaac had pushed my cosplay costumes back into the snows of Narnia.

I took only a little over an hour to get ready, well perhaps two hours but I did my best to look extra spiffy. It was difficult as it invoked a rush of memories for me, sitting before a smeared ovular mirror in a college dorm trying not to burn my hair with curling tongs whilst Samantha swapped top after top and asked if I was trying to look pretty for Phil or Chase. It hurt to think of them but there weren't enough voices to distract me from the past anymore and I struggled to push the memories away.

I exited the bedroom and met Kent at last. He looked at me with careful scrutiny, equal parts impressed and annoyed. "Isaac got you some decent clothes, good," he said approvingly, "but where the fuck did the wings come from?"

To go with my designer outfit, which consisted of a gold sequinned mini skirt with a black, silk vest top, black high heels with gold butterflies resting on the toes, gold bracelets and a gold chain necklace, and a black suede jacket, I had also put on a pair of black, satin bat wings with gold lights along the edges powered by batteries with three settings- off, stationary or flashing. "I got them last Halloween," I said chirpily.

Kent pressed two pale fingers to his brow as he considered ordering me to take them off. Knowing I wouldn't have put them on just to take them off, he murmured a curse, dropped his hand by his side and gave me a warning look. "Alright, I can make them pass for quirky, models are often seen wearing fake tails and feathers, it could work," he sighed, "course it means using Presence for most of the evening and I had hoped for a nice, relaxing dinner."

"Are Romero and Beckett coming?" I queried curiously.

Kent's lip rose in a sneer. "Could you imagine either of them sitting a five star restaurant? Not a chance! They wouldn't even get through the door, no tact either of them, Beckett's eyes glow for Christ's sake and Romero can't tone the psychopath for three fucking seconds." Seeing my sad gaze he frowned and grumbled, "I did ask alright, they both said no. Now come on, I've got reservations."

Kent escorted me from Isaac's abode and into a car that looked a little better than the average yellow taxi. We sped up the streets of Hollywood to the side of the glamour and the rich where drug addicts were born but forbidden to die. The hobos lingered in the sewers out of sight with the Nosferatu and the forgotten creatures of the Tzimisce, and anyone that resembled riff-raff found themselves removed with minimal protest.

We entered a restaurant called The Silver Moon Temple, which had a queue all the way down the pavement. The maître d blinked hard at my wings before Kent used his presence to him charm him into thinking they were an amusing delight and so quirky.

The restaurant had a temple theme going on, making me think of Secret of the Incas, a fond favourite of Isaac's and Tomb Raider, a game I had enjoyed when I was younger until I had caught Rob masturbating to a magazine cover with a woman on it dressed as Lara Croft whilst murmuring over and over again, "yeah Lara you found my family jewels."

There was a fountain gushing down a wall into a crescent shaped pool made of fake stone with a crescent moon glowing in the tiles below decorated with glittering coins. I looked at Kent hopefully and tugged on his sleeve. "For luck Kent please, the moon is so beautiful tonight."

Kent frowned but complied, handing over a quarter with reluctance.

I hugged the coin close in both hands, shut my eyes and threw it in whilst wishing for there to be sparklers with my food.

I was pulled on by Kent after our waiter to our table. Kent realised quickly that he had to escort me as I tried to stop and stare at every attraction. In true Hollywood style the restaurant was a show, there were robot gorillas dancing in fake trees behind some tables and robot leopards above us on fake vines, pawing and snarling at intervals. Just like its home in the land of the stars everything in this restaurant was beautiful and fake. We bypassed a collection of tables that were ringed round a towering pile of gold coins and jewels but to my dismay we continued on.

Our table was outside beside two round koi ponds linked by a miniature waterfall with two potted palm trees and fake torches in tall, bronze holders. I marvelled at the false flames briefly before looking to the palm trees. "No coconuts," I said with dismay.

"Nope," Kent murmured carelessly as he took a seat.

After Kent insisted that I couldn't have ice-cream instead of gravy with steak I eventually gave up on my cravings for steak and settled for sweet chilli chicken strips with noodles and garlic bread. Kent ordered a rare steak to be served on its own and a bottle of red wine. With little effort of presence of his part he had the waiter smiling at his order instead of questioning it.

"Kent can I see the fishies?" I queried hopefully as we waited for our food.

"After dinner," he retorted coolly.

He was dressed in a navy Armani suit with a crisp white shirt, grey tie and grey handkerchief. He looked handsome as he always did and was garnering many lustful looks from the skinny women around us who mourned over their salads whilst looking hungrily at other people's meals before devouring their wine with desperation.

"I don't blame you," I said softly with a smile.

He looked at me keenly, his vampire hearing picking up on my words above the background chatter and music with ease. "For what?" he queried nonchalantly.

"For what happened to me, for my running away from you and Romero to my father who left me in asylum for the Tzimisce to find."

"Right, that," Kent grumbled as he frowned back at me.

"Romero said you hadn't forgiven yourself for that," I informed him, "but there is nothing to forgive."

"Oh he did, did he?" Kent snapped childishly. "So he can talk with you about some private matters then," he added sullenly.

I cocked my head in puzzlement before realising Kent was alluding to bedroom olympics with the grave ghoul. "I don't mind that either," I assured.

"Oh well as long as you don't mind," he sneered.

I looked at him in surprise before frowning, I had not meant to upset him and now I was upset for doing it. "Don't be mad Kent or guilty, please, I don't want you to feel that way and I don't mean to do it. Should I go away again?" I suggested. "Maybe to Downtown with Rob? I didn't mean to go away to begin with or to come back." I clenched my hands together on the table and stared down at them. "I'm making a mess being here, I shouldn't exist like this and it upsets things. It's all out of balance like Christmas in July or mismatched socks on geese."

I flinched feeling Kent's icy hand upon my pair, he gripped them both gently compelling me to look up at him. "Kid I am never ever going to admit this out loud in the presence of anyone else but God damn it's dull without you and I missed you. Yeah, I did feel guilty for chasing you away, I was there to make you a Toreador but that wasn't right and you got scared and you ran because of me, I fucked up and that's on me but I'm glad you're not mad about it. I'm glad you don't mind about Romero either but that's...well that's something else, it's not gonna happen again," he added flatly.

"Why?" I queried curiously.

"He is in love with you, completely and utterly, it's intense, probably because of Isaac's feelings to you, not that I'm saying Romero's feelings aren't his own, they are, I just think his blood bond with Isaac intensifies them because Isaac loves you too. Romero would let go for Isaac but the thing is Isaac can never fully be with you, can he? Because Ash and V.V don't like you so he will never be completely devoted to you. Sure you're back in his coffin, weird by the way, you're living kid you shouldn't sleep with the dead, and Hell I suspect you and him well er..." Kent looked awkward for a moment. "I mean you do, don't you? It's just, it's not the same for vampires as you know and I've always suspected Isaac maybe just let go off that um...urge."

"We have sex," I answered happily, "Isaac's a vigorous lover but not kinky," I added with dismay, "no spanking, just doggy style and missionary, sometimes up against the wall."

"Jesus Christ!" Kent exclaimed before he could help it as his face twisted into an expression of horror and both his dark eyebrows rose. "Alright, I get it," he added hastily, "fuck sorry I mentioned it. It's just my point is you and Isaac go so far with your relationship but it'll never quite be completely realised because Ash and V.V hold him back, he loves them and being with you is a betrayal to them."

Kent fell silent with a look of relief as our food arrived. Just as we lifted our cutlery to begin Kent looked past me and groaned out, "fuck."

Instantly curious I looked behind me. There was a tall, gangly blonde male coming our way. He stood out like a sore thumb in scruffy, faded jeans with holes at the knees, a worn t-shirt a former turquoise with peeling white font on it reading 'NOT TODAY SATAN', and a pair of dirty trainers. His hair hung past his shoulders untidily, it was a greasy golden blonde, his skin was pale and smudged with dirt and his eyes were dark and shining like obsidian. He had an air of madness about him and I knew instantly that he was a vampire.

He stopped at our table and looked down at me with a piercing dark gaze. "A wolf cub whimpering in the night, odd creature the whispers say living, dead and living again, strange with an unclear purpose but still God's creature."

"Like the platypus," I said happily with a grin, "ninja spurred duck beaver!"

"Oh Christ you're a Malkavian," Kent complained.

The blonde turned upon Kent fiercely. "Do not take the Lord's name in vain, He is all powerful even in these trouble times and may send you to hell early."

Kent looked up at him with an irked gaze. "Great, a doomsday Malkavian, double the crazy." He started smacking his brow up and down on the table chanting, "why, why, why," with every smack.

"Try X or W and do not abuse Y so," I advised.

Kent sat upright as his grey gaze darted from me to the blonde before he became aware of the external audience we had gained. The security staff were heading our way looking pointedly at the blonde. "What do you want madman?" Kent queried bluntly.

"The archaeologist she calls master," he answered as he gestured to me, "and the path to the ancient four in torpor who even in their sleep think to play Jyhad."

"Beckett," Kent muttered, "figures you know him. All I wanted was one peaceful meal but nope, never happens. He stood up and glanced from me to the blonde. "Alright lunatic-dee and lunatic-dum, let's get going." He pointed at the blonde accusingly. "You'll be lucky if I get us out of here in one piece."

"If the blood is shed for a noble cause it is justifiable," the Malkavian answered.

Kent rolled his eyes in despair before he turned to deal with the approaching staff. I seized my chance to bolt over to the koi ponds, certain I wouldn't get another chance. I crouched down at the edge and peered over. I briefly glimpsed shimmering white and orange scales before the grinning face of my undead Tzimisce master leered up at me. I jerked back with a shriek. "The flesh moulder!"

Kent's hands seized me tightly about the shoulders and jerked me to my feet. "What are you at now?" he demanded sharply in my left ear. "Let's just leave quietly," he pleaded.

"He's there, master, no ex-master, made the flesh burn in and out," I babbled.

"Looking up from hell," the blonde remarked astutely as Kent turned me round and started marching me forward.

"Sure because the gateway to hell is in a fish pond," Kent grumbled. "I hate Malkavians I really do, you are the second worst clan out there, batshit crazy assholes."

We had to pause for Kent to generously tip the maître d before we exited to the cool night air of Hollywood. "Well that's my membership gone," Kent complained.

"Gluttony is a sin," the blonde commented scornfully.

"Oh yeah because I go there for the food," Kent answered sardonically.

"Showing wealth is prideful, also a sin," the blonde replied sharply.

Kent shook his head. "Try again nutcase."

"Oh! Oh!" I chirped up as I shook off Kent's grasp and bounced up at him eagerly with a wave of my hand. "Is it lust? It's lust isn't it?"

Kent sighed and planted a palm against his face as some beautiful women waiting to get into the restaurant started to laugh.

"What do I win? A cookie? I'm still hungry," I pouted.

Kent lowered his palm and scowled down at me before gesturing to the blonde angrily with his hand. "Kid it ain't my fault the mad prophet here interrupted our food." He glared over at said prophet. "I'm sure the madness could've waited until after dinner."

"I followed the strands of the broken web to her," the Malkavian remarked sombrely, "a song of the manipulative Methuselahs confirmed I was following the right trail."

Kent crossed his arms and looked to me accusingly.

I shrugged. "I'm off the web," I reminded him, "only mortal now with a fluffy snarling side." I let out a low bark.

"Alright here's what we are going to do, find Beckett. Course I don't even know where to start with that one argh, shit, we're going to my apartment then." Kent frowned at the blonde. "Madman what name do the voices give you?"

"My name is Anatole," he answered stiffly, "harbringer of Gehenna, voice of-"

"Yeah, yeah," Kent cut him off, "I didn't ask for your resume. I will let you come to my apartment on two conditions, one- you take off your shoes because they're filthy and two- you do not harm my ghoul."

Anatole looked offended at both suggestions. "You will help me find Beckett?"

"I will gladly offload you on Beckett at the first available opportunity," Kent assured him.

"Then it is a deal."

It took forty minutes before we were in Kent's impressive abode and Kent had assured his ghoul Heather Poe that Anatole would not harm her. Heather, now used to the dark world, merely shrugged her shoulders at Anatole before settling herself back on the Italian, brown leather sofa. Heather was a beautiful, young, former college student, she was tall and slender, pale even for a human with a long, dark auburn bob with a short fringe and bangs, and a pair of rectangular, black framed glasses. Her frame was thin and she lacked curves as V.V often pointed out scornfully, mocking Kent for picking a stick figure over a real woman for a ghoul. Heather had been turned almost on a whim, when in Santa Monica Clinic Kent had found her dying after a traumatic car accident, having lost his previous ghoul Patty to my fangs (on orders from Helter Skelter I might add) he had been compelled to make another servant of Heather.

I sat on the single couch, tugged my knees up to my chest and peered over them at Heather curiously, ghoul to ghoul.

Heather looked over at me calmly. Once she had been nervous around me, fearful of my fangs and mad quips. I missed the intimidation that came with having fangs and vampire powers.

"Kent says you're a ghoul now," she remarked bluntly, "how do you find it?"

"The blood snacks banish the pain," I mused, "and the wolf dances most joyfully through me."

"Yeah Heather she's still crazy, turns out it wasn't the Malkavian curse, she's just fucking mad," Kent remarked brightly. He moved to the kitchen, tugging his phone out of his pocket as he did.

"Order Chinese Kent I'm starving," I called pleadingly.

Heather continued to look at me curiously like I was something exotic. "You must be the only one of your kind." She paused and glanced at Anatole with uncertainty, realising she was about to blurt out something not a lot of people knew about. "Anyway, you get used to being a ghoul you know, it has its perks."

Given the nice quarters Heather dwelled in, the Chanel clothes she was wearing and the designer perfume that wafted off her I could understand her point. I could not see Beckett keeping me in such finery however but could not bring myself to burst Heather's bubble of all ghouls being lavished and spoilt. "You and Romero are very different for Toreador ghouls," I remarked.

Heather stiffened and her eyebrows rose slightly as she pulled an expression of displeasure. "That filthy man is different full stop, even as a normal human he was probably a freak."

"No, he was a man too loyal to his friends," I murmured quietly. "Anyway," I added cheerfully with a wide smile, "you aren't so different, you both get along with Kent marvellously."

Heather's pale green eyes filled with revulsion. "So they told you, I didn't think they would."

"Told me what?" I queried innocently.

She looked suspicious and glanced back to the open doorway Kent had slipped through to the kitchen and then to Anatole. The Malkavian lingered away from us by the front door murmuring either to himself or to the voices. Heather leaned across the couch slightly and murmured in a quiet, conspirational voice, "I caught them together. I'd do anything and everything for my master, he's so beautiful and charming, I can't understand how he let that creep sully him."

"Maybe Kent just likes a man who can handle his way around a long shaft, you know like a shotgun," I suggested.

"Is that a metaphor?" Heather queried with another look of disgust as she sat upright again.

Kent eventually returned to us and looked Anatole's way with displeasure. "I have someone looking for Beckett."

"Are they getting Chinese too?" I queried.

Kent looked at me in annoyance. "Yes Ariadne."

"But you didn't ask what I wanted!" I protested.

"You get the same thing every time and the only reason you even ask for Chinese is for the fortune cookie," he scolded me.

"I like to know if the voices are right or not," I explained. "Yukie didn't give me any fortune cookies," I added moodily. "Where is the Japanese Buffy?"

Kent shrugged. "Down the street in a cheap apartment, she thinks it's safer than mine," he added with a miffed look, "you could kick the doors in there no problem."

"I like her," I said sincerely, "I hope we can hang out soon."

"And do what, go fishing?" Kent queried tauntingly.

"Oh yes! Maybe I could catch a goldfish for a pet or another duck." I sighed. "I miss Lord Quacky."

Kent looked appropriately guilty at this. "No pets kid, you're not good with them, remember?"

We waited for a further thirty minutes before the food and master wolf arrived. I sensed my master before the door opened, feeling his presence brush against me lightly, fond and consoling, the master was here, I was safe. When the door opened I bowled past Anatole and Beckett to seek out the food. It came in two plastic bags in Romero's hands. "I'm starving!" I cried out as I grasped at one.

"I can tell," Romero answered dryly, "but you're not going to eat it in the hall kitten."

I tensed feeling a cold shock rush through me without warning and turned in alarm, fearful that Beckett was in trouble. The Gangrel was stiff in the doorway, almost a statue as he looked in at the mad blonde. I realised the surprise I was feeling was Beckett's, our blood bond had grown stronger then, now I could feel what he did as he felt what I did. "Master?" I quipped quietly as I abandoned the food to stand closer to Beckett. I reached to his gloved right hand and he tensed further at my touch before he finally moved as if coming out of a trance.

"It's been a while Anatole," he greeted in a cool, quiet voice.

"Time matters little to an immortal," Anatole murmured, "until the end draws near and time suddenly runs out."

"Here we go with the doom and gloom again," Kent complained.

"Gehenna is at hand!" Anatole snapped dramatically. "Your ghoul knows it, she sees four ancients sleeping, she hears them, she is drawn to them and knows they will awake and what happens when the antediluvians awaken? They thirst! Such a long, deep thirst and such powerful creatures, what do you think will satisfy them? The blood of Kindred, Kine's blood will be too weak!"

"You know this food is getting cold," Romero remarked calmly.

My stomach let out a deep growl.

Beckett turned his attention to me. "Ariadne you look drawn, when did you last eat?"

"This morning, pancakes."

Beckett sighed. "It's difficult to remember the needs of Kine sometimes. Anatole step back, let us in to Kent's home and we can discuss this while my ghoul feeds."

"Yes and why is she your ghoul? You do not like the human servants," Anatole murmured.

"It's a long story."

"I was dying from the dead craft master's abuse and the Toreadors were too dramatic to share blood to save me," I explained, "so Beckett did the deed because I spoke of Aralu."

"Apparently the story can be told in a single sentence," Beckett said in his usual deadpan manner.

Anatole stepped back at last and we entered. I clapped my hands jovially as the scent of Chinese teased me. "It means master wolf can tell me tales of dinosaurs," I enthused as I chased after Romero to the kitchen.

I watched as Romero found his way around the kitchen with ease. He paused and looked at me curiously as he pulled a tin of beer out of the fridge. "What are you looking at kitten?" he queried.

"You're familiar around here," I murmured, "and Kent doesn't drink beer and Heather prefers wine."

Romero looked at the accusing tin in his hand and sighed. "I was pretty upset losing you and Kent beat himself up a lot over it, sometimes we just sat and watched t.v here you know. It gets lonely in that shack, not just in that way, it's nice to have a friend to talk too. I like Isaac and all but I don't share his interests in black and white films, not that I'm into Kent's poetry either but at least he can listen to poetry at a bar so it means I can have a drink and socialise while he listens to some idiot prattle on in verse about the fifty shades of black a town can be and it's all some stupid ass metaphor about his abusive uncle or some shit."

I twitched at those words. "Sandcastles keep him away, always choose the best seashells, if it's not good enough he hurts."

"What are you talking about now?" Romero queried wearily.

I shook my head and smiled before reaching for a bowl of chicken fried noodles. "Nothing, let's go see if Anatole is madder than me."

* * *

 _Oh goodness me I had this almost all ready to go and then my computer crashed and the whole file was corrupted and despite hours of trying to undo the damage I couldn't. So I had to rewrite the whole thing, hence the delay. Anyway, hope you all like it. Hurray for Anatole, an inspired suggestion but a wonderful fan, you know who you are. I hope I'm getting him right, I'm not really sure since I'm going on what the wiki says but I haven't read any of the books or anything._

 _If you don't know who Anatole is, because I didn't, go on the White Wolf wiki, he's a religious fanatic who got turned into a Malkavian and acts as a herald of Gehenna. He also travelled with Beckett and a Lasombra Lucita. Lucita is also a Sabbat so I don't really get that._


	9. Chapter 8- A Fiery Night

_The television was playing the fly channel again. Everyone was seated and silent, watching in awe. I wanted to join them but I was afraid to move, the mannequins were watching me again._

 _I turned hearing footsteps and saw Greg the orderly approaching with a smile. He reached for his zipper. "Time for your medicine Sarah."_

 _Trapped on the hills, the windows had too many bars, best just to go back to the room and submit. To fight meant solitude and pain. I glanced at the television again, the channel had changed. A Tzimisce was on the screen smiling. "Bad little bitch," he sneered, "Sascha will avenge what you have done to me."_

 _Dead master, eternally dead but not forgotten, why couldn't he be forgotten? Is this real Sarah? Ariadne? Who's who? Is any of it real?_

 _A sharp pain in the left arm, the needle going in. Going numb now, ready to be still for Greg's gropes. Can't build a sandcastle high enough to please._

 _Something's burning, mummy the corpse is ready in the oven. A little overdone...I feel burning._

"Jesus Christ what's going on?"

I became aware of a stinging, tight sensation in my lungs first. I started to cough and only then became aware of a haze of smoke. I sat up in alarm spying flames at the foot of the couch I had been slumbering on and I screamed at the figure standing in the amber fires. Undead Tzimisce master, cackling as his torrid grey flesh remained unsinged.

"Gehenna little slave," he called to me, "Gehenna brings the flames of Hell to you and your filthy kind!"

I screamed again.

"Ariadne stop! Stop!"

Hands shaking me, flames licking at my flesh. I shook and tried to wrench myself free from the icy restraining hands as the fire stretched out.

"Ariadne enough!" There was a golden light burning brighter than the fire, compelling me to look at it, demanding I look at it. I couldn't resist, helpless I turned towards the light and the furious faced Toreador engulfed in it.

"Ariadne wake up!" Kent snarled at me moodily.

Why wasn't he afraid of the fire? Why was he holding me here? I blinked in confusion and terror and shrieked again. "It burns Kent!" I wailed. "It burns!"

"Shit kid it was just a dream, deep breath, come on now."

I tried and only inhaled smoke. I started to choke and gasp.

"Kid look at me," Kent ordered. His presence forced be to obey, pulling me into his aura. "Kid it's not real," he said seriously as his grey eyes locked with mine. "It's not real, wake up now."

Wake up?

I came to with a gasp, confused, alarmed and a little intrigued by the dream within a dream. "Undead master in the flames! Gehenna comes to burn!" I rasped as I found myself once more in Kent's firm grasp but no longer surrounded by fire.

"Hmm and you say she's not a doom-sayer?" I heard Anatole query with interest.

"Generally not," master answered dryly from nearby.

I tried to turn in Kent's grasp but he held me firm. I was on the couch in his living room tangled up beneath a blanket, lying down with Kent leaning over me looking worried as he held me by the shoulders. "Alright kid," he said gently as his golden presence dimmed, "are you with us?"

I nodded though I wasn't sure it was entirely true. I thought of the first dream and I trembled, I had gone to daddy for safety and he had delivered me up to the monsters, human monsters, it had not been the first time he had done that. "Can I speak to Robbie?" I asked quietly.

"Robbie?" Kent cocked in his head in confusion. "Do you mean Rob? Since when do you call him Robbie?" He grinned at me. "I wonder how hard he'd punch me if I started calling him Robbie, hell he's a beast he'd probably rip off my arm."

Beckett gave an unimpressed snort. "The beast, like the thirst, can be controlled," he said sternly.

"Sure Beckett, try not to look too closely at girls in red coats with those eyes hmm?" Kent retorted tauntingly. He finally released me and stood upright. "My, my what red eyes you have grandmother," he sneered as he turned to face the master wolf.

I sat up and looked to my master hopefully. "Why do the dreams hurt master?" I queried woefully.

Beckett folded his arms and looked back at me thoughtfully. He stood beside Anatole against the wall, unruffled as if he had been there the whole time and yet I could sense an urgency in him, he had arrived here quickly, dropping everything to answer my screams.

"Master, I bet there's a part of you loves that," Anatole mused with a small grin. "Still, I'm surprised you picked one who got untangled from the web."

"Not quite untangled," Beckett murmured, "she still bears the mark of madness." He looked at the blonde curiously. "But then she always did, even as a mortal, and you had it too in a fashion, didn't you? I have a theory about that."

"That the madness finds its own," Anatole guessed, "that we Malkavians are drawn to change those who already carry a hint of what we are." He nodded. "I had a theory that to cut off the head of the insanity was to end it, to be free of the web but your Ghoul here disproves this. Perhaps God requires a bigger sacrifice than she has given or perhaps the ties of Caine are not easily made asunder. Through us all his blood runs no matter the clan."

"The scholars will nod along the desert path," I murmured.

Anatole took a step forward as his dark eyes looked at me with intrigue. He waved his right hand and suddenly I was doubled over in laughter but there was no humour, my laugh came from horror. As my waist tautened with the strain tears of terror trickled down my cheeks even as I howled with giggles.

"What in the fuck did you do that for?" Kent roared. Suddenly he was a blur of movement.

Anatole hit the floor with a hard thump and as my laughter subsided I heard a snarl as Beckett grasped at the blur that was Kent with two gloved hands.

"She speaks like one of us," Anatole murmured, "I wanted to make sure she was definitely human."

"You know she's a ghoul!" Kent snapped as he struggled against Beckett's grasp. "What, did you think she was diablerizing Beckett?" he queried sarcastically.

I hugged my knees close and shook, I was indeed very mortal and very vulnerable to the Kindred. For a brief time in Chinatown after relinquishing Valeryion's hold I had dared to believe my Kindred companions and I were still equals somehow, it was a fantasy I had clung to desperately. They were all stronger and faster than me, they could all bend me to their will, Kent could charm me into his fangs with his mere presence if he willed it, Ash could kill me with a single punch, and for Beckett I would walk through fire with a smile. I was inferior to them, a slave, prey, food. No! The voice had tried to make a meal of me for them, he had made me shed blood to invoke a frenzy that would bring about my death and free him and he had failed. I was more than food but I was not an equal...

"Young one don't fear," Beckett compelled me.

I shut my eyes to him. Resist, resist! I couldn't. "Build the sandcastles high, get the prettiest shells and the domination will stop for a time," I murmured. "Always vulnerable as a mortal, malleable to Kindred and Kine. Daddy sent me to the mortal monsters, daddy didn't know what the men would do, how they did stab the flesh, he and Robbie didn't understand uncle stays away when the sandcastles are well built, if they crumble I crumble."

"Let me go," Kent grumbled to Beckett. My master obeyed and released the poet. "It's almost nine you know," he remarked to me scornfully. "You've been sleeping a long time, I only stayed because Romero had to give Isaac the update on mister crazy here." He nodded to Anatole who had gotten up from the ground. "I think it's best if we go to Isaac's now and then I can go feed and hunt for Rob if you want to see him kid."

"We cannot linger, there are others who seek the knowledge of the antediluvians," Anatole remarked darkly, "who would spill their blood in the name of Caine and Gehenna."

"Sascha comes for the desert dwellers," I murmured.

Kent scowled. "Hey lunatic-dee and lunatic-dum is this a genuine warning or speculation? Are they say a few hours away or weeks or do they even know you're in Hollywood?" He looked accusingly at Anatole. "You didn't happen to leave a trail here did you?"

"Breadcrumbs for the witch's trail, leads to a house of jewels in the holly woods," I remarked fearfully.

Kent pressed a palm to his brow and sighed. "Fuck, I can't tell with you two anymore, God damn it I hate Malkavians!"

"And I have a deep loathing for those who blaspheme against the lord," Anatole snapped angrily.

"You're a bloodsucking maniac, if you're not going to hell no one is," Kent sneered at him. "Anyway, let's just go to Isaac and let him know that Beckett collects crazy folk."

"I hardly collect them," Beckett protested. "Now, shall we go to Isaac before either you or Anatole causes any more hysteria?"

Kent bristled at the accusation before gripping my left hand and pulling me to my feet. "Come on kid," he grumbled.

I looked down at my attire- wrinkled brown trousers, a stained, blue silk shirt, and a pair of unicorn patterned socks. "Can't I change?" I queried. "Or wash?"

"At Isaac's," Kent muttered. "Serves you right for crashing on the couch, hope you and Romero refrained from doing anything else on it."

I glanced at Beckett and Anatole curiously. "Where did you sleep?"

"In the graveyard in your friend's shack," Beckett confessed, "I've slept in better and in worse. The rats were a tad irritating but a most welcome breakfast."

"Oh God that's disgusting," Kent muttered as he pulled a face of revulsion, "bleh!" He shuddered.

We hastened outside to the calm night air of Hollywood and I flinched as I felt the hard cool cement of the pavement through my thin socks. It was a warm night as it usually was in California and yet I felt a nip in the air anyway. I quivered and glanced down the brightly lit, ever busy streets. Once I could spy the vampires and ghouls amongst the Kindred with ease and the leprechauns and goblins that sneaked amongst them stealing trinkets but now every form seemed to blur with the next and I was almost blind to the supernatural. Unless it was in front of me admitting what it was I struggled.

"Konbanwa!"

I jumped at the chirpy voice coming from the left and turned to face a smiling Yukie. I smiled back in relief, she was a welcome sight- familiar and mortal, right now quickly becoming my two favourite things. I no longer liked being outnumbered by vampires. "Snow child!" I greeted happily.

She paused and looked at me curiously before her smile widened and she nodded. "Hai and you are lost maiden, right?"

"Lost in her own head," I heard Kent mutter sardonically. He was still beside me, gripping my hand loosely as he looked at Yukie. "Are you enjoying Hollywood? You know if you ever want a personal tour-" Kent winced as I elbowed him in the ribs. "What?" he snapped at me crossly. "I have contacts," he bragged.

Yukie frowned at him and shook her head. "Iie yōkai I still don't trust you." She narrowed her ovular brown gaze. "Maybe you take me down dark alleyway."

Kent frowned. "No because that would be the kind of thing an ugly Nosferatu would do, I'm attractive and charming I don't need to drag women down alleyways."

"As intriguing as it is hearing how you deceive women can we please continue on?" Beckett quipped dryly.

"Come with us Yukie," I said suddenly, "it'll be fun and I'll keep Kent's fangs away from you."

"I'm not going to bite her!" Kent protested. "Not my type anyway," he added sullenly.

This time Yukie frowned and I wondered if she had taken an insult at Kent's words. "Where are you going?" she asked me.

"To the Baron," I explained, "he has shiny things and maybe we can use his gold to get hot dogs later."

Yukie looked at me oddly before giggling. "I think even without the language barrier you will still sound weird. I like it and the American food, hai, let's do that."

"You know I like you're accent," Kent piped up, "which part of Japan are you from?"

"Poet it's not that I don't like listening to you fail at charm but actually it's exactly that," Beckett interrupted. "Your transparency is embarrassing."

"And your smell of wet dog is distracting," Kent snarled back, "never mind cuckoo boy there." He gestured to Anatole with his free hand.

The blonde had been ranting about God and Gehenna to an interested cat whilst we were talking to Yukie.

"I don't think Casanova himself could charm with you two assholes in tow," Kent added grumpily.

I elbowed him again. "Master is very charming," I insisted, "you don't watch enough t.v, all the teenaged girls like werewolves, except when the vampires sparkle. Hmm, maybe you should sparkle Kent."

"Yeah and I'll turn into a vegan vampire while I'm at it," he muttered. "Let's get to Isaac already before doomsday over there draws the police to us." Kent started walking again.

I seized up Yukie's hand with my free one and started pulling her along. "Oh let's skip," I begged. I started to skip and sing, "we're off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of stars because because because he's the movie mogul of stars!"

I could not persuade either Yukie or Kent to sing or skip, in fact Kent dug his heels in and resisted moving any faster than a walk, unusual for a Toreador. Eventually, we made it to Isaac's and found it busy with the activity of a flustered swan named Ginger and a concerned Baron.

"Isaac you have to come!" Ginger exclaimed as we arrived. "That Gangrel is going to have the hunters upon us!"

Ginger Swan was a former Hollywood starlet turned Toreador like Ash but unlike Ash she hadn't turned into a moody depressant despite the fact she was more famous than he had ever been and was meant to be deader than he was. Ginger had a tombstone whilst Ash had a thriving nightclub. Yet despite existing in secrecy Ginger always seemed happy.

Kent gave Beckett a sly look. "Were you out stealing Little Bo Beep's sheep again?" he queried. "Tut, tut, you have to be low key scholar."

"I'm not the only Gangrel in town," Beckett retorted calmly.

"Quickly Isaac before he delivers a blow a human shouldn't heal from! It's already so terrible, so much blood and Ash isn't defending himself!" Ginger cried out.

"The dead phoenix?" I pondered aloud prompting Ginger and Isaac to look my way.

Ginger's blue eyes widened at the sight of me. The Toreador vampire had yet to see me as a human. She sniffed the air about me curiously as her gaze widened. "It's true!" she marvelled. "A miracle, you have the fragile, beautiful gift of life again."

"Yes, most fragile, like glass," I grumbled, "one punch from Ash and I might shatter."

"Romero said you were bleeding on the brain," Isaac said gravely, "but that Beckett's blood saved you." He sighed heavily. "I regret allowing Ash to hurt you and worse that you had to lose more of yourself to the Gangrel to survive."

Beckett let out a snort of protest. "She is well named then," he said sarcastically, "a woman lost to the beast."

"You admit you're a beast," Kent chimed up with a smug smile.

"My veins were dry for master anyway," I murmured. "So has someone returned the pain to the sombre phoenix?"

"Your brother," Ginger blurted out as she came out of her trance at the sight of mortal me, "he's at the Asp Hole right now fighting with Ash. The trouble is Ash isn't fighting back, he's just smiling and saying this might be a good way to go."

"Good for Rob," Kent remarked aloud. Catching Isaac's look of ire he added hastily, "well he is her brother Isaac, you must have known he would retaliate for what happened to Ariadne and he is a Gangrel and one well known for giving into his temper."

"Can't let Rob annoy the masked men and expose Ash's cursed immortality," I murmured. "I'll go stop him."

"And earn another punch from Ash for your troubles?" Kent snapped.

"No," Isaac protested. "I'll call for my car and we will both go, I will see to it that Ariadne is unharmed."

"Will you raise a hand to your childe if necessary?" Beckett pried.

Isaac nodded with a serious golden gaze. "I will." He frowned as he spied Anatole at last. The blonde was making the sign of the cross at the canvases of horror film covers that Isaac had hanging on the walls. "Who is this?" he queried.

"Anatole," Beckett answered bluntly.

Anatole looked Isaac's way at last. "A Baron?" he sneered. "How can any of us claim dominance over another when our own Dark Father remains shamed in the eyes of the Lord to be a wanderer over a king? When Gehenna comes we shall all be judged equally."

"He's a Malkavian," Kent remarked brightly, "Beckett collects them."

"I do not," Beckett retorted with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Anatole speaks of the same things Ariadne does."

"Dinosaurs lost in the jungle?" I queried with interest. "And tribesmen riding them like horses and hunting dodos with them!"

"Some of the same things," Beckett corrected himself hastily. "The Aralu for instance and the Sabbat."

"Yeah let's discuss all that crap later," Kent suggested, "before Rob pulverises Ash to the point of exposing us all."

Isaac nodded and hastened to his phone to call for a car.

It took fifteen precious minutes before Kent, Isaac and I arrived at The Asp Hole leaving Yukie in the company of Ginger whilst Anatole and Beckett went to hunt. In the exclusive club for Hollywood snobs and B-listed actors and actresses we found a scene from a movie. Two males fought around the bar. Blood and debris from broken chairs and bottles stained the floor and in the middle of it was Rob on his knees strangling a grinning Ash. Most of the club goers had formed a ring around them and were yelling encouragement and making bets, only a few offered a quiet token of protest. It became clear as we neared that it was because Ash was using his presence to lure them in. I too got caught up in the golden aura of Ash that willed us to watch, to enjoy the blood spill and long for more, to cheer for death.

"Kill him!" I cried out eagerly.

Kent let out a chortle. "Kid save the bloodlust for another night," he suggested.

Isaac frowned and hurried into the centre. I didn't know what to expect, perhaps for the pair to be separated without warning but then that might be a betrayal of Isaac's strength. Maybe for Rob to swear and shove the Baron back or for Ash to spit at him and blame him for his sorry state. Instead Isaac addressed them in a calm, quiet tone that had the full force of his presence behind it. Though his voice was soft I trembled at each word, we all did and we willed Ash and Rob to have the good sense to obey.

"You are both a disgrace," Isaac addressed them softly, "end this now, stand up and leave here without another word."

Rob bristled to disobey but the Baron's presence was awe-inspiring and difficult to resist. Rob glanced up at him and winced slightly before he released Ash's pallid throat revealing deep, red grooves there from Rob's tight grasp.

"Your sister, as you have already been told, is well," Isaac said to Rob, "but she has had to come here to see you giving into the beast when you promised her you wouldn't."

Rob glanced over at me and I saw the grief that filled his grey eyes at Isaac's words. "Sarah," he murmured hoarsely.

I nodded back, wanting to say something consoling but I couldn't, I was caught up in Isaac's presence which bid all of us to revere him quietly.

Isaac turned his parental disapproving stare onto Ash who offered a taunting bloody teethed smirk. "And you," Isaac addressed him with a wince, "your grudges do not justify such a public display. Your self-loathing creates a misplaced hatred, I don't want you to suffer Ash but I won't permit you to allow others like Ariadne and Robert to suffer either."

Ash looked sullen at Isaac's words but did not retort.

The pair stood up at last, angry and silent they avoided the stares of the crowd and followed Isaac to the front doors. I was surprised when Ash departed, abandoning his club to its startled mortal staff.

When I reached outside Ash was standing aloof from everyone fussing over his hair and bloodstains in typical vain Toreador fashion as his wounds began to heal. With the influence of Isaac's Presence faded Ash was able to reform his defensive armour of bitterness and loathing. His dark blue eyes sought me out first to scald with hatred.

"Not even a scratch," Ash remarked to me with an angry smile, "not so human then. It didn't you long to squander such a gift."

"She was dying!" Rob snapped at him hotly as he glared at him. "Those ugly fucks, Timi-whatever had her prisoner!"  
Ash's gaze brightened with surprise as it darted between me and Rob. "How did that happen so quickly?" he queried, his voice still full of accusation. "Did she run off to one of their dens again?" he added tartly.

"Daddy tried to get the madness cured," I murmured, "but it didn't work, I couldn't build the sandcastles high enough to please Robbie. The undead master found me in the madhouse, he sought me out."

I felt Rob's grey gaze upon me and look at him eagerly, he seemed uneasy. "You haven't called me Robbie in years," he remarked softly.

"Can we take this somewhere a bit more private?" Kent queried as he gestured around us to the gawking crowd that was beginning to spill out from the Asp Hole.

Isaac nodded. "Let's go back to my abode." He made it sound like a suggestion but we all knew it was an order.

It was late in the evening by the time the Kindred were fed and prepared to attempt a discuss in Isaac's abode. The Ghouls were presence too, Kent had brought Heather en route from the Asp Hole and Romero had come returning from an errand of Isaac's. None of us voiced it but it seemed important that we be together, that we were safer together. Even V.V had joined us, rushing to deal with her "brother" Ash. She and Ginger bore an ease and patience with the moody vampire that perhaps only Toreadors were capable of although Kent seemed lacking in it. Ginger fussed over Ash's wounds with a damp cloth whilst V.V gave him teary looks and pleaded with him to be gentler and safer whilst insisting she understood his pain.

Yukie and I sat together on a couch watching the drama unfold as Anatole chimed in with rantings about antediluvians and Gehenna. I brought popcorn in to share with Yukie when Ash began one of his dramatic soliloquies to Isaac about his sad life and his rage at me for being mortal.

We might have made headway but before we could get any further we were interrupted. I smelt the smoke just seconds before the flames appeared, amber and orange they crept round the door of the room we dwelt in with quick succession.


	10. Chapter 9- Invasion

"Not this again!" Kent snapped in annoyance.

I looked at him and the others in surprise, none of them were reacting to the flames at the door. "Why don't you see it?!" I shrieked in alarm and frustration. "There's fire! We're going to burn! WE'RE GOING TO BURN!"

"Nani?" Yukie was looking at me with unease.

Ash rolled his eyes in disgust before moving in a blur. Rob let out a snarl of warning and I flinched as I felt a rush of air as the Toreador brushed past me before halting at the door. He placed a palm against it and into the fire before sneering at me. "Dead you're mad and alive you're madder, it's like you have rabies or something," he snapped, "you should be put down."

I shook my head as the flames continued to spread. "No, no there's fire!" I looked to Isaac pleadingly. "Please, we need to go, we need to go before we burn!They're coming to burn us!"

I felt Isaac's hands about me in an attempt to soothe me but I refused to be pandered to. "WE'RE GOING TO BURN!"

"Christ maybe we should get her outside for a bit of air or something," Kent muttered.

"The fires of Hell can not be avoided," Anatole said confidently, "but perhaps the burn can be delayed."

I looked to the door again, it had almost burned through revealing more flames and the lurking form of something I was certain was Sabbat. I saw its clawed hand reaching for Ash and I pulled away from Isaac to run to Ash.

"Get off me!" Ash snarled hatefully as I grabbed him by the lapels of his blazer and tugged him away from the door. He pushed me hard with both hands sending me hurtling back. I would have hit the wall but Isaac grabbed me in time to prevent the blow.

"You bastard haven't you learned not to touch her!" Rob shouted, his voice deep with the guttural snarl of a wolf.

"Don't!" I protested as I saw claws and fur sprout from Rob's hands. "We need to go! Please we need to go! WE'LL BURN! WE'LL BURN!"

"Shit let's just do it!" Kent snapped with a look of unease.

"Out the back," I pleaded. "Please Isaac," I begged, "please quickly, please, please, please."

The Baron looked down at me with apprehension before he finally moved to obey. "Everyone out," he commanded.

"Isaac you can't be serious!" Ash protested angrily.

"Isaac there's no fire," V.V pointed out.

Isaac's presence filled the room without warning filling it with rage and dread. "Out now," he ordered in a calm but serious voice.

Isaac and I left hand in hand. The Baron pulled me along in a rush of movement that made me feel nauseous as we left through a side door to a narrow back corridor that exited out the back of the jewellers.

Soon we were all outside standing on the edge of the hill the back of the jeweller's looked over appearing very sheepish.

"We fled for a nutcase's delusions," Ash grumbled sullenly.

BOOM!

I was pushed down in a hurry as glass and bricks sprayed out in all directions as the jewellers went up in a roar of crimson flames. I tasted dirt and my ears were full of a ringing noise as all chaos broke out. I couldn't hear or see but I could sense movement all around me and feel the heat of the scorching flames. The fire had to be real this time, a bomb! I tried to lift my head but was sent back to the ground and into a painful oblivion by something smacking hard against the back of my skull.

* * *

I felt something nudging me and awoke with a soft cry. I was sore and heavy, my limbs were tangled up in sheets of some description and my body was stiff from having slumbered curled up in a ball. When I felt something damp and cold press up against my cheek I flinched but when the warm, wet kiss of a canine's tongue followed I was soothed instantly.

I turned to look at the weary crimson gaze of a large, white wolf. Satisfied that I was in some state of calmness the head lowered back to the wooden floor and the eyes closed as the wolf went back to the deep slumber only the vampires were capable of. Sleep, always a fine line between living and dead but more so for those already undead.

I struggled to remember how I had come to be here. There had been violence, blood, madness and nightmares. Sabbat. They had come in the early evening to try and blow the Baron of Hollywood away. They were after me and Anatole. The Gangrels growling for the Malkavian had made that clear.

Anatole, a Malkavian raving of Gehenna, he had made little sense to the Toreadors but plenty to me. He spoke of the Aralu thirsting and calling as they stirred from torpor, he understood their hold on me. The mad prophet knew the deep hunger they would have when they awoke. When...not if...was that the voice's certainty? Malkav, master of madness, so certain that the powers of the ancient four could restore him somehow. He had whispered of Anatole's restoration...restoration? Was I not the first to surface from the dead?

There had not been much time for chat. The Tzimisce were after me and Anatole too and then there was Beckett. My master had always had a rivalry with Sascha, the shape maker would destroy the wolf if he could.

There had been a fight. A bloody battle on the shady hills of Hollywood that held so many secrets from the tinsel town. There were bodies in the hills- drug users who had stolen from dealers, prostitutes abused beyond recognition, Z-list actors and actresses who had given up, B-List stars who knew too many secrets about the A-Listers and needed silenced. The ugly side of Hollywood was eternally in the shadows, the perfect place for a vampire battle to be carried out under the noses of the Kine.

After the battle Isaac had debated over the choice for action whilst Beckett had tried to wrestle some sense from Anatole. I had been dizzy, blood had gushed from my head and I had felt sick and the world had been spinning.

Sascha had not been there, it was underlings instead- Gangrel and Brujah mostly with one Tzimisce. The battle had been minor, spilled into the presence of Kine on the hills only briefly and easily covered up with stories of Hollywood special effects and a stunt to drum up attention for an upcoming horror film. The underlings had been no match for the Baron never mind Kent, Ash, V.V, Ginger, Beckett, Anatole and Romero and Yukie. Heather had shown no fear, she was tough but she just couldn't fight. I tried to remember what I had done but it was a blur of red.

Bickering amongst the Toreador brat children had followed. Ash had accused Isaac of favouritism towards me, snapping that once again my presence had brought trouble to them and once again Isaac had allowed his own childe to suffer out of preference to me.

I struggled to think on it and got only flashes of red and burning pain for a moment. There had been so much fire and blood. Where were we now? Isaac! Where was he? I let out a scream.

The wolf was up again, whining and nudging at me anxiously.

"Isaac?" I croaked as I looked to the wolf. I didn't remember... Remember!

The wolf licked my nose.

"What happened?" I croaked as I struggled to recall. How was I was here with master wolf? Where was here? I tried to detangle myself from the sheets in a panic when the wolf suddenly planted a heavy paw on me, pushing me down to the ground on my back. He let out a low whine before he released me and trotted off.

I listened as his claws scratched at wood three times and then there was the beeping of a code being entered, the clicks of latches and locks and the turning of keys before the low creak of a metal door being opened followed.

"I keep forgetting how big you are for a wolf," I heard Romero's voice grumble.

"Romero!" I called out anxiously as I fought against the sheets again.

"Ah, okay so you don't need let out for a wee then?" Romero queried dryly. "Please stop giving me that look it was just a joke." I heard footsteps follow and then a low, weary chuckle. "Stay still crazy cat you've gotten yourself all tangled up."

"Isaac, fire, Sabbat," I babbled, "blood and red and pain and the old ones stretching from the sand."

Romero kneeled down and pressed a palm against my right cheek. "Settle, Isaac is fine, pissed off and mourning his lost jewels but fine and the insurance company will cover the loss, fire didn't spread much before the brigade arrived. Lucky your uncanny sense for disaster got us out of there before the bomb went off."

I waited impatiently as Romero helped me from the sheets. "What happened?" I queried quietly.

"Well the Sabbat tried to blow us to kingdom come and failed and then Isaac turned them to ashes with a little help from the rest of us. Then you started babbling something about things or vampires in the desert and that other nutjob joined in and insisted we had only faced the weak foot soldiers and that more would come. It turned into a thing and some hunters showed up and some more Sabbat and we had to go."

"Where?" I pried quietly as I struggled to remember.

"To the sewers, Isaac's idea of hell but he's not Baron for nothing, he has sense, he kept a clear access to and through the sewers in case we ever needed the escape route. Not that he was escaping, course not, Kine were getting too interested and his sanctuary is a little charred." He grinned suddenly. "Must say, I'd forgotten what it was like to kill with something other than a gun, little too messy but not bad."

I caught a flashback of Romero using a large serrated knife to hack at a Sabbat Brujah, messy was the word.

"We got out?" I queried quietly, disbelieving.

Romero frowned at me as he drew me up into a sitting position. "You got amnesia?" He cocked his head curiously at this. "You fought like a possessed hellcat, like someone else was in charge, I suppose in your case maybe someone else was."

 _Self-preservation mad one, do not think otherwise_. The sulking voice trapped within.

"But you wanted this one sacrificed," I murmured back.

 _Yes but now the mad prophet has brought us a new path so you have a reprieve. Until we reach the desert you live._

"The memories are not mine to have," I mumbled, "the master voice is fickle, dead he is free, living he is trapped, he wavered the chance of freedom to linger on until we reach the ancients."

"Uh huh," Romero murmured dryly. "You know I doubled back when the sun came up, Isaac's orders, travelled above ground of course. Hollywood is crawling with Sabbat ghouls and hunters, if you hadn't warned us..."

"Where are we?" I quipped. I glanced about the room at last. It was simple, plain and had an odd odour lingering in it that smelled a little like damp faeces and warm piss.

"Well this is the thing," Romero mused, "we didn't really have a lot of notice or options so we had to pick something that wasn't obvious. A place the Toreador wouldn't normally go."

I could see him fighting back a smile. "Are they all here?" I wondered aloud.

Romero nodded. "Oh yes, Isaac, V.V, Ash, Ginger, Kent, and Rob and Damsel of course, and the mad guy, and Beckett, well you know he's here." Romero nodded to the doorway the white wolf sat in looking at us impatiently from.

"Where?" I queried.

"The outskirts of town, an old, abandoned factory that used to be in the business of waste management. There's a dump out the back, buried but you can tell."

"How are they even sleeping here?" I marvelled.

Romero snickered. "Kent kept repeating to himself over and over, 'it's just a bad dream', V.V near fainted, always thought she looked pale but damn did she look pale coming here, Rob and Damsel practically had to wrestle Ash in."

"What are they sleeping in?"

Romero's smile widened. "Well now we're getting to the best bit." He nodded to the wolf again. "It's wolfman there who brought help in. For a loner he's got some interesting contacts," he added sardonically.

I looked at my master with pride. "He is very useful with many who owe favours to him."

"Yes, well, one of those many happens to be a Nosferatu, I swear Kent near shit at the sight of him. Had to lie and tell Kent it was a Nosferatu ghoul that brought in his coffin, even at that he wanted to bleach the whole thing. Isaac had use to some serious presence on them to get them to go to bed for the morning."

I glanced from Romero to Beckett and then back to Romero. "My head struggles to make sense of this," I confessed, "and it hurts."

"Well the short version is this- we got ambushed by some Sabbat scum, they tried to bomb us but you saw it coming before it happened, we got out and defeated them but we had to leave because that mad blond and you kept insisting the...Tzimisce fucks were coming.

Course Isaac wasn't doing any of the fleeing shit, he was furious about them attacking his home, so he got his army riled up before we quit the city. Only reason he didn't stay to head them off is because you got yourself in a state about the whole thing, started crying about Alex and how Isaac would be next and then you did your whole doomsday thing, blondie chimed in and by the end of it Isaac got so concerned he made V.V, Ash and Ginger come along too. Beckett had to talk him down with regards to the army, said it might draw the attention of Kine but Isaac wasn't leaving his barony ripe for the taking either. He left and told his guys to be defensive until offensive became a necessity.

During all that time Beckett reached out to his contacts and he found a way out with a hideaway en route that no one would expect to find Toreadors in. Thing is I don't know if we can go back so easily, Isaac's gonna need the army I think."

"We fled."

Romero nodded sombrely as he dropped the pretence. "Yeah but don't dare say that to Isaac. You got him to come crazy cat don't make him feel guilty over it."

I looked at Beckett and wondered at last why he was a wolf. "Master should be slumbering," I murmured.

"Yeah another aspect of your madness," Romero grumbled, "you went crazier than usual for you, all that screaming about fire, ancients, a desert, the Tzimisce and then you were babbling about Alex, someone called Malkav I think and that guy used to be Prince...LaCroix, you just went nuts. Isaac couldn't calm you and there was this blood pouring out of you, you were hurt bad, you fought well but you are still human, you really took a beating. Beckett had to force some blood into you but you still wouldn't calm down. Thing is, you wouldn't calm down until he turned into that wolf."

Romero nodded over to the white wolf. "Can't explain what's so comforting about a giant wolf with huge teeth but seemed to work for you."

I looked back at Beckett with gratitude. The wolf finally padded back into the room and lay back down beside me.

"Kitten I'm real tired and there's a few hours yet to sunset, why don't you settle back with Beckett and we'll talk more this evening." Romero looked at me pleadingly with bloodshot eyes.

I nodded, equally tired and still confused. My head ached and I didn't want to try and puzzle any further through this mess just yet. I moved closer to the wolf and found it oddly natural to curl up beside him. Romero fixed the sheet back around me and left me with Beckett's white fluffy tail wrapped about me.

* * *

Nightfall. I felt it as soon as I awoke, the ghost of a memory of a being who was triggered by sunset and felt every hour of the night as it passed, ever weary of the final hour that signalled the pain of sunrise. It was a few hours past sunset, perhaps ten o'clock, late but still night and not the early hours of the morning. I remained wrapped in the sheet but the wolf was beside me no more.

I panicked until I spied Beckett standing in a corner quietly watching me with his feral red gaze.

"You feel calmer," he addressed me softly, "at least as calm as one like you can be."

I nodded as I pushed back the sheet and sat up. Beckett was wearing only a loose cream shirt, brown trousers and dusty brown boots. "Does the wolf have clothes when he shifts?" I wondered aloud curiously.

For a rare moment Beckett looked briefly embarrassed before he composed himself and took a step towards me. "You know young one you seem to attract trouble to you and yet I must admit it has not been dull with you. I think if I must have a ghoul you are certainly one of the most interesting ones to have."

I grinned up at him, delighted for the compliment. He extended a hand down to me and I noticed it was without a glove for a change. Beckett had dark claws instead of nails, and fur on his knuckles too thick and wiry to be mistaken for the normal hairs a human can bear. "The mark of the beast," I murmured as I accepted the hand. I felt a prickle of discomfort and realised jarringly that it came from Beckett, not myself. "The beast within that protects this weak ghoul," I murmured, "the beast is powerful, fast and intelligent."

"Young one you don't need to stoke my ego," Beckett assured as he pulled me to my feet, "I have had the beast long enough to master and accept it. It is what it is and I wear it better than most," he added proudly. "Now," he addressed me with a twinkling crimson stare, "I have not fed yet."

"Would master make a meal of this one?" I asked quietly as I held his gaze. I should have been afraid, even as I had loved Valyrion I had been terrified of him but I could find no fear for Beckett.

"Not a meal, when I give you blood how do you see it? Am I food to you?" He grinned showing his fangs.

I shook my head hastily. "No, master's blood is a great gift, it fills me, makes me strong and warm and safe, I feel the caress of the moon with it, I feel closer to master." I looked at Beckett hopefully. "Then would it be a gift? Would you be closer to me?"

Beckett's eyes flashed with unease suddenly and he released my hand. "Yes," he answered, "and perhaps that is something we should avoid."

I filled with dismay and self-loathing. "You reject me then," I said quietly as I bowed my head.

Beckett patted me on the top of my head gently. "No but you are already too strongly under the sway of my blood, it's not fair to you, and your Baron is already quite angry with me, let's not give him an excuse to cause any unpleasantness upon myself."

Beckett turned to the only door out of the room and opened it with ease, I had to assume the locks were already open. I followed after him into a large room that had possibly served as an office once, a very long time ago. It was littered with broken tables, a typewriter missing keys, a broken lamp, some coffins and several stressed looking Toreadors and a harassed looking Nosferatu who had Romero, Rob and Damsel acting as a wall between him and the easily disgusted Toreadors.

"About time you got up," Kent snapped as he looked our way crossly. The poet looked untidy, his dark hair was askew, his designer shirt was wrinkled, and his skin wan and in need of blood.

"Where is Anatole?" Beckett queried.

"Playing with the water cooler," Romero retorted as he glanced through an open doorway to the left. "That's not even a metaphor," he added as he kept staring, "he's really doing that."

I stood up on my tiptoes and squirmed right and left in an effort to see. Unable to spy past Romero I turned my attention to the Nosferatu instead. "Nasty Dude!" I exclaimed happily. I recognised the ugly, misshapen, peach and brown form of a vampire met many months ago when I had been Kindred.

He looked over at me and his orange eyes turned surprised. I'm certain if he had eyebrows they would have been raised. "What the..." He struggled for words prompting me to wonder if his tongue had suffered some mutations since we had last met. "Wait..." He squinted slightly and took a step towards me but Rob moved to block him before he could come any closer. The Nosferatu sighed and queried sardonically, "why am I helping again? Everyone is so hostile."

"Indeed," Beckett murmured dryly, "one gets the impression certain vampires here might have preferred to burn in the sun than accept your aid, such shallow stupidity."

"I'd definitely risk sunburn rather than another day spent in a coffin an ugly, boil ridden, filthy maggot infested creature has touched," Kent blurted out hatefully.

"Thank you for holding back on your true feelings out of respect for our friend here," Beckett replied in a deadpan voice.

Kent looked confused, thrown by Beckett's almost sincere tone. "I wasn't," he grumbled.

"Let's not bicker," Isaac remarked before Beckett could retort. The Baron looked unfavourably at the Nasty Dude. "Whilst I cannot pretend to have any pleasure in receiving aid from a Nosferatu I do still have gratitude. We were in temporary need and you helped us," he said stiffly to the Nosferatu.

The Nasty Dude looked past Rob and Damsel to Isaac and sneered, "is that a thanks?"

Isaac frowned back and did not answer.

Luckily, whatever imps that plagued Anatole urged him to return to us and provide a much needed distraction. The blonde entered dramatically, thrusting his arms outwards as if pushing something away. I wondered at the possibility of an invisible foe and let out a wary snarl.

"What are you growling for, dinner?" Kent quipped moodily.

"Just warding off the elephant," I answered happily.

"What?" Damsel queried with a look of puzzlement.

"Why can't she learn not to ask," Kent grumbled.

"The elephant," I replied as I smiled at the redheaded rebel. "People always talk about an elephant in the room when none is seen, they are always an invisible presence."

"I have heard the voice of God and through him the whispers of our forefather and the clue to the desert dwellers is at the public house of knowledge," Anatole announced.

"Wait, you heard the voice of God from a dried up water cooler?" Kent queried dryly.

Anatole gave him a wilting stare. "No, that merely amplified the voice," he answered haughtily.

Ash bristled, V.V rolled her eyes and Kent cursed. Before the spoilt children of Arikel could start whining to the Baron Yukie and Heather finally returned to us. They came through another door with shared looks of dismay.

"There's nothing of note here," Heather said softly as she approached Kent. "No food, no weapons." She paused and looked at the Toreadors wearily. "Master?" she queried tentatively.

Kent glanced at his Ghoul with a mild fondness. "It's okay, we're going anyway," he answered.

"To where?" Ash demanded with a cross look at Isaac.

"To the museum," Rob answered. All of us looked to him with surprise.

"Do you hear the voices?" I queried hopefully.

Rob frowned over at me and shook his head. "No Sarah, I just watch t.v now and again, there was an advert for a new exhibition- treasures of Egypt. Lot of sand in Egypt," he glanced over at Anatole, "can't be a coincidence."

"Really?" Kent queried bitingly. "You're going with that, that sand in Egypt and these two talking about deserts means it's definitely Egypt? Do you know where else there's a lot of sand Rob? FUCKING ALMOST EVERY BEACH IN THE WORLD!"

Rob's eyes flashed red as he let out a furious snarl and turned an expression of animalistic rage upon the Toreador.

Kent bristled too, clenching his fists tight as he drew himself upright and cursed again.

"Hey asshole," Damsel remarked with a glare at Kent as she slipped her right hand about Rob's left arm, "public house of knowledge, that would be a museum wouldn't it?" She gripped Rob's arm lightly and I watched in fascination as she leaned up to him fearlessly and whispered something in his ear.

My brother calmed almost instantly and the red glow faded from his eyes. I felt Beckett's intrigue and mild envy as he watched Rob curiously.

Kent smoothed back his dark hair with his right hand but the spikes almost instantly shot up again. He started pacing back and forth with an anxious shake of his head. "This place smells so bad," he complained, "I can't think straight and no one else bloody can. God that odour of sewage is nauseating. Public house of knowledge, could be a library couldn't it? Hell who cares?! Are we indulging this madman?" He gestured to Anatole wildly.

"What about me?" I queried quietly. "I see the four in the hot deserts too," I reminded them, "it makes my head hurt and sometimes they make me bleed, even from far away they might devour me." I looked to Isaac pleadingly. "I want it to end, I want the master voice freed from me, then they all might fall silent. Please."

Isaac sighed before stepping up to me and gripping my hands lightly in his own. "Alright," he said softly. "First I'll need someone to scout out Hollywood," he glanced to Ash, V.V and Ginger, "to see if it is safe for you three to return and take charge in my absence."

"Oh come on Isaac," Ash protested, "the Sabbat run us out and you just let them? You're the Baron, you need to go back and sort it!"

"Ash stop," V.V scolded. She looked to Isaac and gave him a sweet smile. "We can do this," she assured.

"No army unless it's necessary," Isaac warned, "defence before offence until I return." He turned his attention back to me and squeezed my hands. "I feel our home is probably safe from those fiends now because it is you they want and yet because I fear for you Ariadne I take no happiness from this. If you feel we need to see this matter of the four ancients through then that is what we shall do. Shall we start with the museum?"

I nodded eagerly. "Yes, they have dinosaurs, rowar!"


	11. Chapter 10- Historic Treasures

I looked at the two models with dismay- one depicted the fierce reptilian face I had become accustomed to in my fondest dinosaur dreams and the other displayed a giant turkey from my nightmares. "Why is this with the dinosaurs?" I queried in despair as I pointed at the overgrown turkey angrily. "It's ruining the scare!"

"Ariadne for the last time we are not here for fun!" Kent snapped in frustration.

I glanced over my shoulder at the dark haired poet, shifting the balloon on a stick in my hand to the left so I could see him. "But I've never been here before," I retorted as I pulled my lip down in a pout and attempted to make my eyes water.

Kent looked revolted and shook his head. "Kid I don't know what face you're making but stop before it gets stuck that way. You're a human now, get Romero to bring you during the day."

I looked at Romero hopefully. "Two trips to dinosaurs," I said eagerly. "I wonder since the mummies will hide from the sun will the Italian fairies trapped in the smelly garlic armour come out?"  
Romero sighed. "I hate museums," he grumbled.

"God forbid you'd enjoy a little culture," Kent complained. "And it's Gaelic armour kid, not garlic."

"Why do you bicker with everyone?" Damsel remarked as she looked at Kent curiously. "Ever think you'd make a better Gangrel than a Toreador Kent?"

Kent bristled at the question as Beckett smiled and Rob looked disgusted.

"Why did so many of you need to come here again?" Nasty Dude Bertram quipped tiredly. He was gazing at a collection of prehistoric claws kept behind glass. He looked intrigued and I wondered if, like me, he hadn't gotten the chance to venture to this museum. For some reason the Nosferatu couldn't wander as freely amongst the Kine as other Kindred, odd given some Kine were just as ugly as them if not uglier, many intentionally so.

"Why did you?" Kent retorted childishly.

"His expertise disabled the security cameras in here or would you have preferred the challenge of risking exposure to the Kine?" Beckett queried sardonically.

"Well it's not like she's being subtle anyway," Kent grumbled as he gestured to me with one hand.

I glanced up and down at myself in confusion. I had taken several garments and gifts from the museum's shop in an effort to look the part of visiting tourist. "I blend in as a visitor better than you," I retorted defensively. I was wearing a black baseball cap with a T-Rex's roaring face on the front and red claw marks on the back, a black jacket with 'ROWAR' on the back beneath the image of an Allosaurus ready to pounce, and I held a yellow balloon on a stick with I Heart The Museum on it in blue font, and my new companion Percy the Brontosaurus teddy was safely tucked under my belt.

"This is my first time!" I reminded Kent as I patted the large yellow badge on my jacket that said '1st Visit!' in red font beneath a grinning cartoon T-Rex.

"She is doing no harm," Isaac said with a hint of humour to his voice, "although I do not think it was necessary for you to pick the lock to the shop for her Romero."

Romero shrugged. "She said please."

I skipped over to a collection of fossilised dinosaur eggs behind glass. "Can I have one?" I queried hopefully.

"No," Isaac answered sternly. "We are not here to pilfer."

"She's already done that," Bertram spoke up.

The Nosferatu earned a look of displeasure from Isaac for his troubles. "I am referring of course to the valuable, irreplaceable objects which would be missed," Isaac explained haughtily.

"We really should hurry along," Beckett suggested, "before those guards awaken, it would be rather awkward trying to explain why so many of us have felt the need for a late night visit to the museum."

Beckett followed the signs that advertised the new exhibit 'Treasures of Egypt', leading us past numerous dinosaur skeletons. When I lingered too long by the Brontosaurus skeleton my master commanded me on in a calm but firm manner. I obeyed but I complained about it whilst Isaac chided Beckett for taking advantage of our blood ties.

We reached a large foyer with a mock pyramid dominating the centre of it with a black sign on a metal post marking the entrance to the exhibit at the pyramid's entrance. Two unimpressed looking bird headed statues guarded either side of the currently closed exhibit which was also guarded by a red rope.

Anatole hastened ahead, pausing briefly to look at the statues in disgust. "Blasphemy," he scorned with hostility, "beast and man combined in an affront to God. False gods will break before the true one." He headed to the closed door at the pyramid and scowled at it before kicking it.

"You know that's electronic!" Bertram called after him. "There's a keypad on it. You know I could open it, before you set off an alarm or something." He hurried on.

"Come and open this chamber of secrets then child of Absimiliard," Anatole called back with an impatient look.

"Oh, oh beware the giant snake!" I piped up.

"Giant snake?" Damsel echoed with a look of confusion.

"Harry Potter," Rob grumbled.

Several eyes looked to my brother with a mixture of judgement and wonder.

"You know I have hobbies," he snapped hotly at no one in particular.

"Watching tv about museum exhibitions and reading Harry Potter, some hobbies," Kent sneered.

There was a beep and a creak as Bertram broke the code system and freed the door. Anatole pushed past him to hurry in.

"Wait," Beckett cautioned as his hand clamped down on my right shoulder before I could skip after the blonde.

"What is it?" Isaac queried warily.

"Apep was a giant snake demon in Egyptian mythology," Beckett. "Could be a coincidence," he added in his usual light, sardonic manner, "but with Ariadne that so rarely seems to be the case."

"Are you suggesting there's a giant snake in there?" Damsel scoffed. "And no one in the museum has noticed?"

"I'm suggesting Ariadne possesses an uncanny foresight in her madness and much like the ill-fated Cassandra her ramblings do often bear a ring of truth to them," Beckett retorted.

"Whilst I agree with you on Ariadne it is hard to imagine a giant snake being brought here without anyone noticing," Kent remarked.

"Alright," Beckett gave in as he released my shoulder.

"Sarah," Rob growled out moodily, "her name is Sarah."

I hurried on excitedly. "I want to see a mummy! Oh, oh do you think they shamble as slowly as zombies?"

"That's stereotyping," Romero scorned as he followed close behind me.

I raced on bypassing glass boxes that showcased jewellery belonging to long dead nobles and broken jars that had contained long rotted organs that had been preserved until thieves had ruined them. There were touch screens that promised descriptions and pictures of the artefacts, and mock statues of Egyptian guards and gods guarded and greeted us at each room.

It was difficult to make out most things as we were relying on the emergency lighting and yet the semi-darkness added a certain thrill to the pyramid of pilfered treasures. I stumbled round the left past a statue of an odd looking beast like a lion with a crocodile's head. "Cute little Egyptian puppy," I enthused before patting its stone head. I continued on into a room that was intentionally dark and contained numerous sarcophagi and mummies.

I paused before a statue of Anubis guide to the dead. I gave a polite bow and hunted through my pockets for a dog biscuit to offer him.

"What are you doing?" Romero queried from behind me.

"Giving him a present," I answered happily as I left a bone shaped biscuit at the god's feet.

"Of course," Romero mused.

I turned to face the dark haired ghoul with a grin. "Do you like being with the dead?" I quipped.

"Er...is that a trick question? I mean yeah when they stay buried they're good neighbours to have, nice and quiet, good target practice when they're wandering mind. Can't say I've a preference for it, I'm indifferent I suppose."

"It is quiet with the dead," I agreed as I stepped up to him. "And dark, the dead stay silent about the sins," I mused, "and the darkness hides the devilish deeds." I turned my head to the doorway that advertised the underworld just as the Nasty Dude let out a yell.

"Shit," Romero cursed.

We moved as Beckett, Isaac, Rob, Kent and Damsel joined us. Kent and Isaac surprised us in a rush, chasing the cries of alarm into darkness.

"Where the hell did that snake come from?!" Bertram's voice screeched out in excited terror.

"It is difficult to bear the burden of always being right sometimes," Beckett commented with mock mournfulness.

"You're weird for a Gangrel," Damsel muttered to him.

"Just because Rob chooses to get on like a beast doesn't mean we all have to," Beckett retorted airily.

"You're just a snob," Rob snapped.

We were forced to descend down a path into the bowels of the pyramid and a large chamber designed to represent the Egyptian underworld. There were several carvings on the walls in hieroglyphs and a giant statue of a crowned man with green flesh sitting on a throne holding a crook and flail. It was from around this larger than life statue that the snake came from.

"That crazy idiot took something from the wall and then that snake just appeared!" Bertram snapped hotly as he pointed at Anatole. "Normally you mad guys are fun but you're just dangerous!"

"What did you take Anatole?" Beckett pried calmly, tranquil even in the presence of a giant hissing serpent.

BANG! BANG! Kent had started shooting.

I hung back with my balloon, sorrowful that I had not been permitted to bring my sword on this adventure.

"It is a map to the ancients in the desert," Anatole murmured reverently, "it was on the wall beneath the immortal sun, Aten, the one God, our God though they did not realise it then."

"Actually evidence would suggest Aten was just a means of Akhenaten trying to break control from the priests of Amun-Ra," Beckett argued.

The snake struck, its open maw reaching out for Anatole rapidly. The blonde didn't even seem notice and was barely spared by Kent forcibly shoving him to one side in a blur. Kent turned in a flash and fired a shot into the open mouth.

The snake recoiled with an angry hiss as blood splashed in its mouth.

"Could you two save the history debate for later and do something!" Kent snarled.

I looked at the walls with interest, there were carvings of the sun plated with gold and lesser images of the moon outlined in silver. I followed along them seeing depictions of the snake demon recoiling from the sun and being impaled with a spear by a god with an odd canine head. "You need to shove a spear in it," I advised.

I let out a squeal as I found myself wrapped up in its body without warning as it embraced me for an unwanted cuddle. I let out a gasp of pain as I felt my ribs constrict and threaten to crack as it squeezed. I felt its red eyes burning on me, piercing into me curiously. I met its gaze and looked back, through the red to the real watcher, a beauty who danced to charm the snake, who seduced the serpent with their own swaying and bid it to choke the life from me. An old Toreador buried deep beneath the sands.

I felt my vision dim and heard a rib crack as it gave way to the power of the coils. Sharp pain flooded through me as I tried and failed to gasp for air and red smudged my vision.

There was a loud, angry hiss and several more gunshots and suddenly the snake seemed to slacken. Hands were reaching for me frantically, shoving the large muscle of flesh and scales from me and pulling me from the serpent's hold.

"How is it that you managed to hold your balloon through all of that?" Beckett queried sardonically.

"Are you alright?" Isaac demanded frantically and I realised it was his hands that had hastened to save me.

"Isaac that was amazing!" I heard Kent praise from somewhere.

"What was?" I queried curiously. My lips stained with blood at my words.

"You're hurt," Isaac said worriedly.

I met his tender golden gaze and smiled. "Mortals are fragile," I murmured, "being one is hard."

"Here." Beckett held out his left arm above me with a fresh cut ready for me to feed upon.

"Another chain to bind us," I murmured sorrowfully even as I raised my head to the wound. I pressed my lips against his cold flesh and sucked hard. With the nourishment of blood the burning faded and my love for Beckett grew. I didn't know whether to be glad or sad.

"That's enough," Isaac murmured as he pushed my hair back from my brow and tried to draw me away from master.

I let out a moan of protest and reached to Beckett with both hands, releasing my balloon as I did.

Beckett caught the string before my balloon could stray too high. "Let's not lose it after all that," he mused. "Come now Ariadne, let go of me and take your balloon back."

I obeyed quickly before I could even contemplate disobeying. Master's word was law. I clutched my balloon close and looked to Beckett for praise.

"Good girl," Beckett acknowledged as he patted me on the head.

"Stop treating her like a pet," Isaac complained.

"It's what she wants from me," Beckett replied calmly.

I nodded and nuzzled against Beckett lightly with my head. "And dinosaur stories," I reminded him softly.

I finally turned my attention to the dead snake and saw the bloodstained stoic face of Anubis sticking out of the back of its head, it had been impaled with the statue. I looked to Isaac with curiosity and awe. "Did you slay the serpent?" I queried.

Isaac nodded. "It was becoming irritating," he murmured.

"Baron and monster slayer," I enthused with a wide smile, "every girl's dream."

"Am I yours still?" he queried quietly as he gave me a small smile.

"Always," I answered swiftly, "a lost princess and a monster slayer but does it have a happy ending?" I frowned slightly. "One day perhaps weddings and true love but for now a fairytale."

Isaac flinched slightly before giving me a light kiss to disguise his embarrassment. "Sometimes I feel too old for the fables," he murmured in my right ear, "but then you pull me into your mad fantasy world and I'm young again."

"Look," Anatole interrupted quite rudely, "the eye of the statue."

We followed the madman's gesture up to the green skinned statue and saw its right eye winking in the faint light.

Anatole began to clamber up in a rush.

"Careful," Beckett chided, "remember when you fell from the Eiffel Tower? We had a terrible time getting you to stay dead for the Kine who witnessed it. It was almost sunrise before they left."

"Fell from the Eiffel Tower," Kent repeated dryly, "doing what exactly?"

"He thought God had given him the gift of flight but he was mistaken," Beckett confessed.

Anatole reached the top and with several grunts he managed to free whatever was masquerading for an eye. "It's marvellous," he enthused.

"What is it?" Beckett pried.

"I don't know!"

With those not so revealing words Anatole tripped and fell into the green god's lap with several swears most unbecoming of a religious vampire. Kent, Romero and Damsel all started laughing at his misfortune.

"Malkavians," Bertram grumbled, "never doing things the easy way."

Anatole finally righted himself and joined us back on the ground. The eye, along with the alleged map were secreted in his jacket somewhere. "We can go, the Lord has provided answers," he said confidently.

"Is this Lord who's a voice in your head, the water cooler lord or the puddle you claimed had a messenger of God in it?" Kent queried sardonically. "Or maybe Caine himself? You're into that too aren't you? The existence of our Dark Father?"

"You are a filthy heathen," Anatole scorned him, "and you will burn slowly in Hell for it but until then I shall treat you as friend because you seem to be one to Beckett and the mad girl who prophesies as I do," he added with a nod to me.

"That's a little hypocritical, sure you're not a Cammy?" Damsel queried.

Kent shrugged. "Whatever you say doomsday."

"I think we should go," Isaac remarked wearily as he took my free hand tightly in his own.

"Er what about the giant snake corpse?" Damsel queried. "The Kine will definitely ask questions."

Anatole kicked it. "Satan," he said confidently, "wearing the favoured guise of a serpent."

"No one asked its name," Kent scoffed. "Look we can't exactly shove it under a rug."

"I have an idea," Beckett suggested, "let's chop it up and hide it amongst the unopened sarcophagi, the ones they shouldn't open for fear of damaging them."

"Isn't that a conflict of interests for you?" Kent queried. "Potentially damaging history and all."

"Not if you try to be careful," Beckett scorned him, "and I don't hear any suggestions from you."

"Let's just get on with it," Isaac ordered, "before the guards awaken."


	12. Chapter 11- Plagued Party

We had to take refuge Downtown which Isaac was unhappy about as it was Camarilla town. Even with the prince deposed this side of LA still answered to the masked men guided, appropriately, by a magician. After a day's rest I set out to explore with Kent, Yukie and Heather in tow. Isaac had gone to grumble reluctant promises of non-violence to Strauss, refusing to go so far as to use the word peace as he had yet to forgive the magic master for our stony gargoyle guest in the theatre. Damsel had gone to reconcile with Nines Rodriguez, the resident rebel this side of town and Rob had tagged along. Beckett was attempting to go over the stolen Egyptian goods with Anatole. Even Romero had business, slinking off to, in his words, 'find an old friend' which apparently wasn't an euphemism for seeking out a whore, at least not this time.

Kent grumbled about being a ghoul babysitter, ignoring Yukie's protests that she wasn't a ghoul before he lamented over there being nowhere interesting or new to take us. He dismissed my suggestion of the love goddess' church as a 'tired scene'. Overhearing some women in sequins talk about going to a private party in the Empire Arms Hotel he determined that we would get some decent clothes and go there. Of course this involved going to the late night boutique store with one of Kent's many stolen credit cards, an idea he regretted the moment we entered the shop.

"Oh sugar daddy Kent can I have this one?" I squealed out as I rushed over to a mini skirt made of gold sequins.

"Don't call me that!" Kent spluttered as the shop keeper frowned at us.

I smiled over at him innocently and quipped, "but why else could you be buying outfits for three women to party in?"

"Fuck sake kid you're doing that on purpose," he snarled before he put on a show of presence for the female shop assistance who looked ready to throw us out. When he caught her mousey brown stare she was instantly ensnared.

"Is that necessary?" Yukie complained as she frowned at him.

"As necessary as getting you out of that atrocious outfit is," Kent retorted heatedly. "Seriously, you have sauce stains on the jacket and blood on the top, why even wear white when you work in a noddle shop?"

Yukie shook her head at the Toreador and folded her arms in a show of refusal.

I snatched up a black, silk skirt and hurried over to Yukie with it. "Come on," I urged her with a smile, "it will be fun to spend Kent's money and go dancing. Have you ever been dancing?" I looked at her questioningly.

"Iie," she retorted with a shake of her head.

"It's almost as fun as hunting for unicorn bunnies," I informed her sincerely.

Heather had already selected a couple of outfits and headed off to the changing room. The redhead was disappointingly anti-sociable with myself, a pity since I liked friends and was in need of more mortal ones to balance them against the vampires. I looked to Yukie hopefully, I missed the nights of getting ready with Samantha, sipping at cheap alcohol whilst singing along badly to our favourite tunes as we swapped bargain bought outfits and tried to enhance them with glittering jewellery that was all deceptively false.

Yukie sighed. "Alright," she gave in, "if we must attend this...party." She looked over at Kent curiously but he was busy chatting up the sales' woman. "Is it a ruse?" Yukie asked hopefully. "Perhaps we are to intrude upon demons in secret?" she quipped quietly.

I shrugged and smiled. "Hotels have many secrets, gangsters, brotherhoods, royalty, they are built for sinful nights."

I snatched up a few more outfits and led Yukie to the changing rooms. With effort and time we finally chose our outfits for the evening. By the time we did Kent had fed off the assistant and grown bored and Heather's outfit had already been purchased and she had changed into it.

With our outfits picked, purchased and put on we were ready to party. It was odd that I felt a thrill of excitement at the thought, how could attending a mortal drunken gathering seem so appealing when I spent my nights on adventures with vampires that included raiding museums and fighting snake monsters? I realised as I linked arms with Kent and Yukie that perhaps there were some aspects of my mortal life that I missed more than I realised.

"You know you look elegant," Kent remarked to me as we walked, "at least for you."

I smiled as I gazed down at my dress, it was black with a V neck embroidered in gold, thin gold straps and it was backless with a slit up the right thigh. "I no longer have the beauty of the vampire," I remarked remorsefully, "but perhaps this classic style will keep the Baron's interest."

"Oh kid don't get gloomy," Kent chided me as we arrived at the entrance to the hotel, "Isaac will always be interested in you."

We entered with ease, the security guard barely blinked at us whilst the receptionist eyed us only briefly before Kent led us to the elevator. We rode it up to the fifth floor with two other men and two women who were dressed to party just as we were. When we exited we found the party in full swing having already spilled out of the rooms and into the lobby. It was a wonder the hotel hadn't shut it down.

Music blasted from all directions, modern pop tunes that were easy to dance too, and everyone seemed in high spirits. Kent used his presence to influence some space and create a path to the centre point, a large bedroom thriving with action. When we entered we found nothing had been left to the imagination.

"Er are they..." Heather left her revolted question unspoken.

We all looked to the bed and I filled with a rush of emotions. Pleasure filled this area, a warm, seductive presence bid us to be calm, happy, open and free, to welcome the pleasure in all its forms. Groaning and moaning mingled with the music as bodies writhed together in many forms of dance and love.

"Almost," Kent mused.

"What kind of party is this again?" Yukie quipped with disgust.

"They've probably just had too much to drink," Kent said dismissively as he turned us away.

We all tensed as the hostess appeared before us. She was bright and welcoming, a sultry beauty who mesmerised me with her looks and charm. She smiled at us and I instantly felt elated by it. "Welcome to the gathering of the Brotherhood," she addressed us softly though her pale grey gaze was for Kent alone, "are you here to join us brother?"

"Kent you didn't tell us you had another sister!" I cried out in annoyance.

"I don't," Kent grumbled as he looked back at the woman with wariness.

She let out a gentle giggle. "Come now, you are all welcome here. Mingle morsels, make friends, drink and fill yourself with pleasure."

I felt a warm tingle dance through me and broke free from Kent to obey.

"It's alright, everyone is safe here," she said assuringly, "this is a place of fun and freedom. Come handsome stranger, you are a guest, I am the hostess, a dance is due."

I glanced over my shoulder to see the woman extended a slender golden hued hand out to Kent much to Heather's displeasure.

Kent smiled back almost with a dazed expression and accepted. Lured by the call of music I hastened on.

I drank and danced until I was tired and dizzy. I felt many hands and lips brush against me but I resisted, none would have me tonight save the Baron. It was odd but much as I didn't want the party to end I wanted to leave, my selves were at a rivalry yet again, silly selves did often struggle to be whole. Occasionally I thought the moans of pleasure were full of pain and I remembered the hedonistic and sadistic whims of my dead master. I caught flashes of red at the edges of my eye but I could not focus on them.

I was hot, too hot, shiny with sweat and panting. My chest heaved against my dress as I fought from a breath. I was striding towards something, hands were reaching to the straps of my dress to reach my bust so I might breathe better. I tensed against the hands and realised they were my own. I needed to go, we all needed to go!

I started to run when a cold arm reached about my arms and waist and pulled me back. I glimpsed Kent just ahead and opened my mouth to scream but an icy palm clamped against my lips and silenced me.

"We need to go now you fool!" That arrogant, commanding voice, I knew it! It called to Kent. I glimpsed a blonde in the crowd as I struggled vainly against my captor. The fallen prince! He was facing Kent, forcing Kent's attentions upon him. How was he here? Was this his trap?

"Shush little morsel," a male's voice murmured in my ear, "you are mine now. Let me be your midnight guide to the Brotherhood."

I tried to struggle and protest but his hand moved down to my throat and I found myself strangled into unconsciousness.

* * *

I awoke to bonds and darkness. My hands were tied with rope in front of me, my feet were also tied together, a bindfold kept me in a perpetual darkness and a gag bid me to silence. My gladness at being able to awaken was immediately banished by my fear of my new predicament. I felt wood beneath my legs and smelt a sickly odour of rot in the air. There was a moaning noise in the air, faint and distant but still unnerving.

"Little morsel I hear your heart pounding," a voice called out mockingly.

I tensed feeling cold hands clamp down on my shoulders from behind without warning. I felt a cold breath brush against the skin on my neck and was desperate to recoil from the stale stench of sickness that came with it.

"You don't have to be frightened I am here to help you, to enlighten you," he murmured as he rubbed his fingers up and down my bare arms sending fresh chills through me. "I thought you were part of the cattle to feed upon but you're different, not enlightened yet but close perhaps."

I whimpered unwittingly when his tongue licked along the edge of my neck.

He let out a low snicker and leaned into my right ear. "You are one of those Ghoul creatures," he mused. "You can be a warrior for us, a carrier of the disease, let it spread to the masses and bring about the end so we can journey to the Ninth Circle together."

I had no idea what he was talking about, he sounded mad but he was no Malkavian. Kindred yes but this one had an odd flair of dramatics about him that suited the Toreadors best. Yet I could not imagine he bore Kent's style or Isaac's grace, odd sort of Toreador if he was one. Ah but yes he was sick, unwell in the mind and body, diseased Toreador!

I heard the moaning again but now it was closer and accompanied by the sound of feet being dragged along the floor. It was akin to the sound the zombies had made in Hollywood and with it came the sweet sickly odour of rot.

"You have nothing to fear, I'll show you, to the diseased cattle I am god."

My blindfold was removed and I immediately wished it wasn't. Before me were mortals caught between life and death, poisoned, they were mad in the mind and flesh, akin to zombies but not quite the same. They moved about the large, tired looking room we occupied without any obvious purpose. They were the carriers of pestilence, servants of the rider on the white horse. When one, a pus faced man, came limping towards me I instinctively recoiled back into the cold waiting arms of death.

"It is better to have a purpose," he murmured, "to be part of something. They will help me usher in the end and you will too."

I shook my head in protest and felt his hot breath brush against me again as he laughed in my right ear. "You do not get a choice in that." He reached along my cheek, brushing his fingertips against it softly before gripping the gag and tugging it down. "This is the only choice I will grant you tonight morsel, you can sleep up here with the shambling servants of the Brotherhood or down with me."

I tensed when his tongue licked along my cheek promising worse things. A female stumbled in her shambling and landed at my feet with a loud groan. She pressed her disease ridden hands against my bare legs, rotting fingers gripping along my limbs as she started to crawl, climbing up my body towards my torso. I jerked my bound feet hard, slamming them up and into her torso. My feet slipped through her ribcage like butter and doused my legs in a spray of blood and rotting flesh. All the while the woman continued to climb, ignorant to her body tearing apart.

""Make your choice," my captor murmured before his hands slipped away from me.

He stood up and started walking off, granting me a glimpse of himself at last. He was tall with skin so pale it had a bluish hue to it. He was topless showing off a toned body spoiled with bloody sores, his lower half hidden beneath stained, worn jeans. He turned to cock his head over his shoulder and grin at me. I sensed the power of his presence and knew I should resist but I was frightened so I let its false warmth brush against me in an attempt to calm my nerves. He had a roguishly handsome face, scruffy, dark brown hair, messy stubble and sharp, penetrating, frosty blue eyes. Smears of blood at his mouth and dark brown stains about his eyes added a frightening element to his appearance but did not detract from his looks.

"I'm a monster," he remarked, "but at least I admit it unlike so many demons that plague these streets, taking life without permission and sullying so many. What God watched over me when that demon tore into my neck and made me into this monster you see before you?" he quipped bitterly. "Who is the real evil, the originator who does it knowingly or the child who has no choice?"

The cursed people had started to encircle me, moaning and shuffling as they drew closer, limbs reaching out to me hungrily. My feet had slipped free from the female but still she tried to clamber up me. My captor's grin widened just before two men blocked him from view.

Hands pawed at my hair and limbs. I jerked left and right but could not avoid them. He said I had a choice, the frying pan or the fire, the lesser demons or the prince of hell. He was walking off.

"Wait!" I shrieked as too many sweaty, pus plagued hands brushed against me. "I'll go with you!"

He let out a low chuckle before shouting, "away from her!"

I filled with relief as the zombies shuffled away but it was short lived as his icy gaze was upon me again. He faced me fully and stepped up to me. "Call me Bishop Vick," he said with a frightening, fanged grin. He bent down and plucked me up sideways before he started to carry me away from one horror and towards another.

I filled with despair and wondered if Beckett could feel it. Where was Kent? Had he noticed my absence? Had Yukie or Heather? Were they safe or in the same kind of danger as me?

"What about my friends?" I asked quietly.

"I left them with sister Jezebel, they are her concern not yours or mine," Bishop Vick answered dismissively.

Jezebel, our treacherous hostess. "The diseased whoremaster," I murmured.

Bishop Vick chuckled. "She spreads the message of the Brotherhood, each new whore is a new seed of corruption ready to blossom and bear poisoned fruits to take this world to the next and into the Ninth Circle."

"Why do we pass Circles One to Eight?" I pondered.

"There is only the Ninth."

* * *

I staggered weakly through the streets. My head was pounding, and my flesh both cold and hot as it bubbled with goosebumps and yet stank with sweat. My vision was blurred and each step cost me as I swayed and my body threatened to fall. Where was I? I pressed against a cold brick wall and clutched at it desperately with both hands. My throat was burning. I reached my right hand to it and my fingers came away with a smearing of thick, red blood. Diseased blood. I caught a flashback of fangs intruding against my flesh, bruising it as I tried and failed to resist the invasion. I had been filled with sickness, a vessel to carry rot upon the world.

I slipped to my knees and landed ungracefully in a puddle. My ears were ringing and the world was spinning.

"Ariadne!"

No, not now, please, too late, too late!

"Ariadne!"  
I looked ahead and shook my head as I recoiled back from the anxiously approaching figures. "You can't! You can't!" I protested as I waved them back. "Please, I'm infected!"

The Baron's feet skidded to a halt as he looked at me aghast. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "Where have you been all this time?"

All this time? How long had it been? How many days had been stolen from me this time? I winced as my stomach churned and let out a moan as the vomit came charging up soaking my tattered dress.

"She is sick," Beckett commented dryly.

"No shit," Damsel's no nonsense voice sneered. I heard a pang of worry in her voice.

"In the blood," Beckett murmured, "I feel it."

"The withered horse took me on a poisoned ride," I rasped miserably as I gasped for air. "The disease will only worsen and spread, do not touch me."

"Ariadne you're mortal, no mortal sickness could harm us," Isaac called to me pleadingly.

"Nines talked about this," Damsel remarked. "A disease in town, plague bearers who are part of some doomsday cult."

"Plague bearer," Isaac snarled with disgust. He looked at me with woe before his amber stare filled with determination. "Well it can't be spread by mere touch," he said sternly. "Let me help you Ariadne, we will find a cure for this, I promise." He came at me too quickly for me to evade him and plucked me up with ease.

I groaned in protest as my vision danced to red. "What about Kent?" I queried weakly.

Isaac sighed. "We've been looking for him too but he hasn't turned up yet."

"The hotel with the arms," I murmured tiredly. "The whore queen." I flinched as I caught an image of Bishop Vick naked and lapping at tiny, bloody bite marks on my body. Pain and pleasure like only a Toreador could give. Pleasuring and spoiling me all in one go before he cast me out to the streets to disease others.

"Shush," Isaac murmured softly as tears slipped down my cheeks, "we will find Kent, don't worry. You're not well Ariadne, close your eyes and I'll get you to a bed."

"It's no normal disease Isaac," Beckett cautioned.

"I know," the Baron grumbled. "Strauss mentioned the plague bearers. I suppose I must go back to that damnable Tremere and see if a cure is known yet. What about your blood?"  
"It can perhaps stave off the effects for her," Beckett murmured, "but the disease is in the blood, it wouldn't be easily banished."

"Drain her," Anatole spoke up brightly. I had not even noticed him nearby. "Every drop."

"She would die foolish madman," Isaac scorned him.

I shut my eyes at last as the street lights stung at my eyes and made my head sting. I hated being mortal, mortals were too vulnerable.


	13. Chapter 12-The Wizard King & Rebel Baron

I could hear a low murmur of voices, the heated, protesting voice of the grave guardian, the low warning tones of the Baron and the nervous voice of the half-forgotten fleet-footed ghoul. My vision was blurred, edged in gold from the light at the doorway and tormented with dreamed up images of a beautiful woman dancing in an ancient temple while her equally beautiful twin brother watched along and laughed. When the fleet-footed ghoul mentioned Kent I tried to make myself pay attention. It was difficult as coming back to reality meant returning to the boils that burned and throbbed at my back, the sweat that made my skin sticky and the tightness of my throat.

I was imprisoned beneath several blankets and duvets, doomed to roast alive. I tried to shift some of the smothering quilts off me but they were too heavy and I too weak.

"Rest young one," master spoke sternly from my right, "you need the heat to burn out the illness. An old-fashioned method I'll admit but it will help a little. Straining your ears will not help you," he added.

I glanced his way. Beckett was sitting on an old-fashioned, red chair with one leg crossed over the other looking as casual as he probably could, coat and hat gone, dark hair free and shirt loose. He had balancing on his leg an open book that bore dinosaurs on its cover. I looked to the book hopefully and only then became conscious of Percy my Brontosaurus companion snuggled up beside me.

I felt ill and loathed it, it had not been so long since I had been poisoned with Tzimisce blood and now here I was poisoned again by vampires. I coughed and winced as the coughing continued, racking through my chest and burning up my throat. When it subsided I suddenly found Isaac before me with his usual concerned amber gaze. He had come with that unnatural Toreador speed of his. Suddenly I was sat up upright, propped against a pillow and found Isaac's hand pressing a damp cloth against my brow whilst his other hand offered up a cup of some questionable substance.

"It's my blood," Beckett explained in his usual dry tone.

I parted my lips and reached out for the cup with my right hand. I drank its contents quickly, ready to savour master's blood but it tasted thick and cold on the tongue and was slow in offering me any relief.

Isaac took the empty cup away and began dabbing around my sweat soaked face with the cloth.

"What about Kent?" I queried as I looked at Isaac hopefully.

Isaac tensed and frowned. "Romero brought someone who has word of him," he answered coolly.

"The prince's ghoul," I said hoarsely, "Marcurio."

Isaac's frown deepened as he looked at me suspiciously.

"She heard you through the door Isaac, you weren't entirely subtle," Beckett informed him brightly. "Perhaps public corridors are not the place for guarded conversations."

"I'm going to go with Romero and this Marcurio to get Kent," Isaac informed me. "Your brother and Damsel were able to find Heather and Yukie earlier this evening. Heather is quite shaken up, probably a side effect from being without Kent's blood for five nights but Yukie was calm. She told us you were at a party in The Empire Arms, that there was danger there, Kindred. She said it was difficult to remember things but she knows they were in danger and that Kent gave himself up for them."

I sighed miserably, how very dramatic and foolish of him. "What happened to him?" I queried worriedly.

Isaac extended a hand to brush against my lank, sweat soaked hair. "I don't know yet, I'm still not certain what's happened to you either. I'll bring him back and we will sort this mess out together." He pulled back and looked at Beckett this time. "Can I trust you to keep her safe?"

Beckett gave a small smile. "Can you Isaac? Do I not detect the brother and Brujah den mother downstairs?"

I couldn't see it but I knew Isaac was frowning again. "We don't know who these plague bearers are or if they will try to take her again," he murmured, "I'd rather keep her safe and your companion is still insisting on draining her blood," he added crossly.

"I won't let him harm her," Beckett assured. "Go, find your Toreador and I will keep her company."

Isaac sighed and turned his attention back to me. "I will be as quick as I can."

"Just get Kent," I said pleadingly, "make him safe."

Isaac nodded back sombrely before he rose and departed from me, taking the damp cloth with him.

At Beckett's gentle command I settled once more and attempted sleep, lulled into a dull semi-consciousness by the sound of his droll voice reading to me about dinosaurs. It was a text book, equal parts boring and interesting, I tuned out the big words and only paid attention when he talked about the size of the dinosaurs or how they hunted prey.

 _There was music, pipes and harps and someone singing in a high, sweet voice. Soft, amber flames filled the room and in the centre she danced. Tall, proud, beautiful Toreador, the maiden of an ancient world. Equal parts innocent and seductive, she could use her charm to portray whatever they wanted- the sweet virgin, the sultry seducer, the intelligent queen, or the humble maid ripe for corruption. All they had to do was name their desire. None could completely have her however except for him, it was why she was as hated as much as she was desired, why she was always in danger and forever pursued. It was why they made him mad, their jealously knew no bounds, they hated the bond he had with her, a bond they would never know, and helped drive him to madness for it._

 _There was a sombre faced king on a throne watching her with enchantment, old eyes in a young face, desiring, possessive, passionate and rage filled. He wanted her above all others but he knew she could never completely accept him, he knew there was a side of her that loathed his beast. He knew she judged him, he judged himself didn't he, unworthy of her beauty, too much a monster for her. He was unwilling to believe she could see past that and in his anger he was ready to curse her for it._

 _A young man sat clapping and jeering along to her dancing, loud and jovial, a stark contrast to the others' watchful silence. He was as enraptured by her as all the others but it did not drive him to dark thoughts of possession, he was safe in the knowledge that she would always come to him. He had her dark hair though his was messy, his looks were attractive but chaotic, his grin uneven and his eyes unnatural, one turquoise and one hazel, one watching one world and one watching another._

 _They were both guests of the court, both wary of the trap and yet when the betrayal would come they would both fail to spy it until it was too late. Young, beautiful mortals so unaware of the dark destiny ahead of them. They wanted only fun and laughter now but soon the king would offer them other things- power, wealth, immortality, he would whisper false promises to them in a desire to keep them in his court, to keep her dancing for him and her twin laughing. Part of him wanted everything to stay as it was forever but another part of him, the lusting side, wanted to have her fully in body, mind and soul, to make her his new queen._

" _The Ninth Circle," I heard Bishop Vick murmur from behind me as his cold hands slipped over my shoulders. "The more corruption we spread, the more we infect and sacrifice, the closer we get to it."_

I was startled from my dream by Beckett's gentle shake. "You were shouting young one," he informed me calmly.

My symptoms, banished by my dream, overwhelmed me in a wave of sickness. I moaned as my head burned and sweated anew and my stomach churned and threatened to bring up bile.

"You mentioned the dead in the desert," Beckett commented curiously.

"In the long sleep," I murmured tiredly, "but even in dreams she dances."

I could hear voices again, so many, many voices. Tempers were short in the air, two leaders were trading angry words and idle threats. I pushed angrily against my covers and finally freed myself of them.

Beckett sighed scornfully as I pushed myself upright and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. "I should order you back to bed," he murmured, "but I do not like to exploit our bond and I think perhaps you might be the only one who will save Isaac from saying something foolish and ensuring none of you get any help. The Anarchs are always so damningly stubborn," he mused, "but so are the Camarilla, how silly for everyone to be so similar and yet so consistently at odds."

I staggered to my feet with a groan as everything swayed. I was relieved when Beckett snatched out a gloved hand to grip my left arm and steady my balance.

"I suppose I should accompany you," he remarked dryly, "although I suspect Isaac will only blame me for your being out of bed." He stood and looked at me with a pitying red gaze. "Staying in bed will do you no good, this is no normal illness to be treated with bed rest. Still, when Strauss sees you are mortal...I wonder at Isaac's love for you, he risks exposure of your mortality in an effort to save you, how perfectly Toreador I suppose." Beckett let out a sardonic chortle at this before escorting me to the door.

I looked up at Beckett wonderingly before we stepped outside to a dark corridor. "You have a soft spot for the mad ones," I murmured.

Beckett frowned. "I wonder, is that speculation on your part or a glimpse given with your mad insight?"

"They have been family to you, am I family too master?" I queried hopefully.

Beckett smiled down at me. "Young one I am displeased when misfortune befalls you, the fact that any discomforts to your existence should bother me at all is annoying and surprising but it is the truth. If I did not have concerns for you I would not spend my time reading to you about dinosaurs so you would sleep better. You may have some hidden insight to Aralu but Anatole holds the map, if I had no feelings for you I would chance a departure with him to seek this desert that holds the sleeping immortals."

I smiled. "So yes, family," I surmised.

We headed downstairs slowly, I laboured with pains and tormented with coughs that prevented any chance of me sneaking subtly. Through a shut door I heard the angry voices of Strauss and Isaac throw blame at one another.

"Look at him, he is one bite away from a Masquerade violation," the wizard king remarked.

I reached for the door, pushed it open and stepped through slowly to glimpse a horrifying sight.

Handsome Kent was now a wretched looking creature, his skin bore an ugly blue hue to it, bloody sores stained the corners of his mouth and bruising shadowed his eyes. His clothes were tatters, his jacket gone, his shirt as if someone had torn it open to expose more bloody sores, his trousers were sloppy, the buttons undone, and his shoes and socks missing. He hugged the wall, shrunken back from the blood wizard until he laid his tortured grey gaze upon me. He winced at my ill sight and a sob tore through him. "You were meant to be safe," he said hoarsely, "she swore you would all go free." He bowed his head in grief and shook it.

"Why have you let her come down here?" Isaac snapped at Beckett angrily.

"Keeping her in bed will not help her," Beckett answered calmly.

Isaac's amber gaze darted to the Tremere whose focus was now on me. He was Maximillian Strauss, Max to his friends so very much Mr. Strauss to me. He was a bald, fair skinned man turned a little later in life much like Beckett and Isaac. His dress code of a blood red trenchcoat, a maroon shirt, dark green tie, olive green waistcoat with gold trim, dark brown trousers and the most marvellous circular, amber tinted spectacles all but screamed modern day steampunk magician. Like many Tremere he had a health dose of arrogance and superiority and like all Camarilla he believed in law and order and had a certain lust for power.

Strauss' pale gaze fell upon me, narrowing in suspicion before realisation filled it. The magician would not be tricked. "You are human, how is that possible?" He looked from me to Isaac once more. "She betrayed me to you, I thought on a childish whim or perhaps because of those voices that plague the Malkavians but no, what is this Isaac? You called me here to say you had friends infected by the plague-bearers." He gestured with one gloved hand to Kent who remained sobbing hoarsely against the wall. "I thought you meant the Toreador but a mortal too? A Kindred turned ghoul, I do not recognise this dark magic, what is it?" His voice was calm though edged with anger as his eyes burned with an impatient thirst for knowledge.

"No iron crown yet," I remarked weakly as I moved to lean against a bookshelf for support. Beckett released my hand to let me go. It put me a little closer to Kent who kept his gaze on the ground. "What happened poet?" I queried sympathetically.

"I shouldn't have brought you there," Kent murmured feverishly to the carpet, "any of you, it was so reckless. A party, I was bored, now I'm paying for that but you shouldn't be, she swore, God she swore! Me for all you, sent you away, she promised." He shuddered. "I'm dirty now kid, inside and out, I can't ever get clean, such a sickness and all I can do is spread it, God it's so ugly, I'm ugly with it!" He grasped at his messy hair with both hands and let out a pained shriek.

"Kent be still," Isaac bid him gently with a hint of his powerful presence trickling into his voice. I felt the power of it, the Toreador gift to entrance and allure, to make others obsess over them until there was nothing else, to enchant them to the point that they would come at at a summon no matter the hour, no matter what other duties they had or who else they might have to attend. It was a deadly gift often underestimated by many fools. I thought again of the dancing beauty in the desert who had charmed the snake to awake and strike at me, such a lure that could cross across a vast distance and still work.

Kent whimpered and crouched in against himself. "I'm so thirsty," he moaned, "it's never satiated but if I feed I infect."

"When did he last feed?" Strauss demanded angrily. "When did he become like this? When did she?" He gestured to me this time. "She turns mortal, a gift we might all have a chance at, and already it is squandered on illness."

"She did not become sick on purpose you pompous Camarilla slave!" Isaac retorted hotly. "I know you Max, your expertise is blood magic, you must know of a cure for this!"

I winced to hear the desperation in Isaac's voice, not quite buried beneath the rage. I tried to look to him but my vision blurred and the room swayed a little. I clutched at the bookshelf with both hands, pressing my heated face against its smooth surface hoping for some kind of relief.

"Even if I had such a cure why would I share it with you?" Strauss queried coolly as he folded his arms. "You're an Anarch, a disorganised danger to yourself and to the Camarilla and you leaped at a chance to humiliate me which posed a grave risk to us all at a time when the Camarilla was weak."

"Do you mean that walking block of stone?" Isaac sneered back. "That you unleashed in my territory and failed to take responsibility for? All I did was ensure you took credit for your mistake and that was after I cleaned it up!"

I looked from one to the other, blinking the wetness from my eyes as I tried to get a focus on them. This childlike yelling was most curious. "Is there a history between the blood king and the Baron?" I wondered aloud.

They paused and both looked to me simultaneously, Isaac almost embarrassed and Strauss slightly miffed.

"Past or not this yelling is tiresome," Beckett remarked dryly. "Max, Isaac came to you openly before this plague-bearer trouble reached us, he is not here for war and as a member of the Camarilla you should want to to stop this plague-bearer problem before the Kine start to realise it is not simply a new disease amongst them. We've seen the Hazmat people on the street, it will not take them long to realise there is a supernatural origin to it all."

Strauss stiffened at Beckett's words and looked at Isaac angrily again. "You made no effort to keep my secret why should I keep yours?"

"And what is mine?" Isaac retorted heatedly.

Strauss pointed at me again, I was getting terribly annoyed with being gestured to like an exhibition. "She is Isaac, you are in love with her, a vampire turned mortal, a drama worthy of a Toreador but a danger to the Camarilla, there are many who would take her head without question for knowing all that she does. There are many who would hurt her just for revenge too I'm sure," he added with a narrowed, scolding gaze at me.

"I can offer you something for your silence," Isaac retorted calmly.

"No!" Kent protested suddenly. He moved from the wall in a sudden blur, moving to kneel at Isaac's feet and grasp at his knees tightly. "You can't, please!"

I wondered at the dramatics as I found myself sliding to the ground in a fit of coughing.

"Kent you despise him," Isaac said sharply, "and he is certainly not worth Ariadne's safety."

"Isaac don't," Kent groaned, "he helped me, I hate it, I hate admitting it, I hate that it happened but fuck I'd have infected and killed so many if he hadn't stopped me. They starved me for three nights, starved me and..." He paused and whimpered again. "Isaac don't do this, don't."

"Isaac," I addressed him softly, my voice weak and barely audible from coughing, "please don't. Whatever you know, whatever you're going to do, don't. It will hurt Kent and I don't want him hurt for my safety." I coughed again, groaning in pain as blood speckled the phlegm this time. "I'd rather not pay that price for life. Maybe if I die I'll have peace from the mad master and the four in the desert, I see the Aralu all the time now, it doesn't stop and I want it to."

"Ariadne don't talk like that," Isaac begged.

"Aralu?" Strauss quipped sharply.

"Oh good let's tell a Tremere about antediluvians in slumber, that's never gone awry," Beckett commented sardonically.

Strauss came to stand before me but was blocked by Isaac who moved quicker. My Baron stood firm before me, my unfailing shield.

"The Aralu are legend, what do you know of them? What does a Kine know of them?" Strauss demanded.

"She is more than a Kine," Isaac replied defensively.

"Right a Ghoul and whose Ghoul is she? I know you Isaac you wouldn't have the heart to do that to her, then you would always have to wonder if her love for you was real."

I glanced round Isaac to look up at Strauss curiously, he made it sound like he had a past with Isaac. My head throbbed, my nose was running and every muscle ached and yet I did not want to be anywhere else right now.

"My Ghoul," Beckett answered with his usual deadpan calmness, "and she is not long for this world. I have helped you in the past Max, do you know of a cure for her or Kent?"

"Nothing proved yet," Strauss confessed, "I have had no plague-bearer subject to test upon and the mortal victims have been too ill."

"You have a potential cure then," Beckett surmised in a tired tone.

"The sickness is blood based," Strauss explained, "and we are experts in Thaumaturgy, for the mortal a blood transfusion, it is a matter of draining out the sick blood and replacing it with clean blood but for the vampire it is more complex. Truthfully without a plague-bearer to question or at the very least inspect it is difficult to know."

"You must try," Isaac compelled him.

"Must I?" Strauss queried savagely. "You've given me nothing Isaac and taken plenty."

"I'm sorry about Velvet but it was over ten years ago!" Isaac snapped, surprising us all with a sudden loss of temper.

"Not so long for our kind," Strauss replied bitterly. "Not so long that I will forgive or help you or another Anarch whelp or a woman who poses such a danger to the Camarilla."

"I will give you LaCroix," Isaac stated calmly.

I was stunned, this popcorn drama had me enraptured and was a welcome distraction from the migraine I was developing.

"NO!" Kent bellowed as he hastened to Isaac again, tears streaming down in his eyes as he stumbled. My poor poet was traumatised and half-mad with disease.

"I suspected that he survived," Strauss murmured. "Very well Isaac, give me LaCroix and one of these plague-bearers and I will give you my word that I will do everything in my power to see these two cured."

"Your word Max," Isaac said firmly as he ignored Kent, "not the word of the Regent or a Camarilla prince in the making, your word."

Strauss tugged off the glove from his right hand and extended his bare palm to Isaac. "You have my word."

Isaac accepted his hand and they shook whilst Kent quivered and sobbed on the floor. I crept around Isaac to console Kent and reached out a hand to rub the Toreador's back. He jerked back sharply with a violent hiss, recoiling to the wall in a blur. "Don't touch me," he snarled, "no one touch me again!"

I looked at Kent with woe. "I mean to help," I said quietly, "we are sick together Kent." I hugged my torso tight as it groaned in pain. "Together Kent, please," I pleaded as my brow sweated and bloody coughs racked through me again.

"Come Ariadne," Beckett bid me, "you grow worse again, I will give you a little of my blood, then I must feed."

"Kent," I called to the dark haired poet hopefully but he ignored me.

Isaac drew me up to my feet and handed me over to Beckett. "Take her back upstairs," he remarked wearily.

Too sore and tired to disobey I allowed Beckett to escort me out of the room and back to the bedroom. With tears and reluctance I took Beckett's blood from a cup again as a direct drainage from him could not be risked lest I contaminate him. I lay back down with Percy as Beckett, with a half-smile and a hint of pity in his blazing carmine eyes told me a new story about Bill the Allosaurus.

* * *

 _So does this answer some questions or create more? I have a soft spot for the Brotherhood of the Ninth Circle, I quite feel sorry for them especially Bishop Vick. I tried finding out more about the Ninth Circle but I couldn't get much so I've gone my own way with it._

 _Hurray for Strauss, he finally makes an appearance in this fanfic world! I love the insults Max and Isaac make about each other in the game when it comes to the gargoyle business, Isaac is so childish and petty laughing, spreading the truth of it all over town like gossip just to humiliate Strauss. I mean yeah Strauss is Camarilla and all but it's not like Isaac is above having the Camarilla/Tremere creation for an ally. Then you have Strauss ignorantly blaming the Anarchs for the plague-bearers and saying that most of them are mere children. Anyway, I decided all this pettiness should have something beyond mere Camarilla/Anarch rivalries and I noticed that at the beginning of the game in the theatre when everyone gathers to see the player's sire get executed you see V.V blowing a kiss to Strauss so I just took it from there._

 _I find Beckett the hardest to write, hope I'm doing him justice!_

 _As always thanks for all the lovely reviews, they are very much appreciated and please keep them coming!_


	14. Chapter 13- Disease

Day time. It was just after noon and the vampires were deep in slumber. I had spent my morning tossing and turning as I could find no relief from my many aches. My entire body seemed to turn against me as I throbbed and burned inside and out. My fever was eternal and brought my visions even more to life. All through the dawn I had watched quiet and curious as my fallen sire Alexander stood in a corner of the room watching me with a sorrowful expression.

Romero was still out hunting, continuing what Rob had started. My brother who refused to see me because he couldn't stand to see me so close to death yet again. Rob had lost too many family members already. I understood it but I feared slipping away without a final farewell. I searched the shadows for my deceased niece and nephew as I sensed their spectres in the dark but their forms were faint and grey, they were not quite ready for me yet. I wondered grimly what afterlife they had gone to and if I would follow there.

I wondered what drew me back from my pain and felt a sudden thrill of ice as I spied Kent standing at the window fingering the heavy velvet drapes slowly. I did not even bother to consider how he had gotten in here or why he might be up so early in the day. There were no mortal guards for us, not with Romero away, it was too short notice for Isaac to procure any so we had to rely on the security of the house, courtesy of the Nasty Dude's connections. That and Yukie and Heather had promised to ensure the front door was kept locked.

We had hastened to Downtown unprepared and so few of us had come as Isaac would never leave Hollywood to fall to the Tzimisce. They had moved on at my departure anyway according to V.V but Isaac was not prepared to bring anyone else to him. With little option Isaac had been forced to consent to Beckett's insistence that we welcome help from Bertram.

"Kent you should be with Hypnos, safe from Apollo," I murmured as I staggered out of bed.

"I can't sleep with this poison," he retorted bitterly, "it sickness my mind as well as my body. I think perhaps there might have always been some sickness there, some selfish side of me that corrupted the rest. I took you hand in hand into a nest of disease." He glanced over his left shoulder at me with a dejected expression. "I am so sorry for that Ariadne."

"Kent it wasn't your fault," I said sincerely as I moved towards him. I paused as a moment of nausea seized me and my body began to tremble with chills.

"It is, if I had not taken us there you would not be sick," he retorted firmly. "I've endangered him as well because he had to help me, now Strauss will make an example of him and have his head on pike. Shit, I know he deserves it, he deserves worse but fuck the idea of it hurts too much and I don't know why." He turned back to the curtains and let out a sob.

I looked to the curtains nervously as I wondered at Kent's intentions. "The prince is not enchained yet," I reminded him, "we can still sway Isaac against this."

Kent's grip tightened on the edge of the curtain. "No," he snarled with a shake of his head, "no, there's no time and even if there is I couldn't condemn you to save him, you have more right to life than him."

"Sebastian," I said softly, "say his name Kent."

"God damn it Ariadne don't!" he snapped with a sob.

"How did he help you?" I pried. "Why was he there?"

Kent looked back at me with a wretched expression. "The plague-bearers couldn't sway him to their ways so they ignored him so long as he ignored them too," he explained. "He knows Strauss is too busy trying to claw back the city in the carnage the burned child and his fall from grace left, Strauss doesn't have the resources to spare to deal with the plague-bearers."

He swallowed hard. "She infected me, she spent three nights doing it, starving me and...oh shit." He bowed his head and I saw the telltale sparkle of tears dance down his cheeks. "It doesn't matter how she did it but she infected me and then she turned me out, starving and diseased, I was frenzying, I would have slaughtered so many people and infected so many others."

"He was waiting."

"He knew they'd do it sooner or later," Kent said harshly, "he'd seen them do it to other Kindred. He stopped me from hurting people and risking exposure, he got me away and he had blood packs waiting. It took a couple of nights before I stopped frenzying but it's that much closer now, every night I feel the hunger worse than I ever did." He looked back up at me sharply. "Kid I can't do it, the blood packs aren't sustaining me and I can't hold off much longer. I won't forgive myself if I spread this."

"Kent please," I pleaded.

"I'm sorry kid I just...I had to say goodbye to you first you know, you really are like a little sister to me." He turned back to the curtains.

I moved like a wildcat summoning all the energy I could to jumping at him. At his best Kent would have dodged me in less than a second without spoiling any effort but Kent was at his worst- sick and melodramatic, and he underestimated my own sickness. The curtain fluttered back slightly sending a deadly beam of sunlight into the room as I tackled Kent to the floor.

He hit the carpet with a hiss of annoyance whilst I tried to pin him down as bloody coughs racked through me. He might have tossed me off easily but my blood splattered onto his face and had him paralysed in disgust and horror. He let out a groan and shut his eyes with a wince.

There was a loud thumping at the door and I turned to it with alarm.

"Kitten are you alright in there?" Romero's worried voice called out.

"Don't," Kent pleaded hoarsely.

"No!" I yelled. "NO!"

Romero risked disease as I knew he would and kicked the door in though I couldn't imagine why he assumed it was locked. He hurried into the room before pausing with a look of caution. "What in the hell is going on here?" he queried. "Kent why are you awake?"

"He wants to burn," I confessed sombrely as I sat upright. I kept Kent pinned beneath my knees, daring him to throw me off.

"I hate what I am!" Kent shrieked dramatically. "Can't you see how disgusting it is? God the smell alone is driving me mad and I can't stop it! I'm so thirsty and the smell of you two, all the blood, Jesus Christ it's making everything worse!" He opened his bruised eyes and they burned red.

I filled with horror as he moved with great speed.

One moment I was on top of Kent and the next I was on the floor pinned down by both his hands pressing hard enough on my shoulders to bruise. I winced and started to cough again as pain and fear danced through me. I blinked as Kent blurred before me and my head roared with pain.

"Kent," Romero spoke up calmly, "don't hurt her."

"I don't want to," Kent snarled, "but my hunger burns." He glanced away from me to the curtains again. "Let me burn instead."

I reached up with my hands to grasp at Kent's arms, holding him fast to me. "No!" I protested.

"Kent you're sick," Romero continued, "but it will pass. Let's get you cleaned up and find you a blood pack."

Kent let out a bitter laugh. "How the fuck can you be so calm all the time? It won't pass, there's no cure!"

"There will be," Romero insisted. "You're far too stubborn an asshole to let this finish you off and far too proud to have such a shitty end. Come on, don't be like that dickhead Ash, suicidal doesn't suit you." Romero crept closer with every word and reached out a hand to press down on Kent's shoulder.

At Romero's touch Kent let out a scream and fled from us both in a blur. He stopped at a corner in the room where he cowered, pawing at his tangled hair and sobbing. "Don't touch me, don't touch me," he whimpered.

I sat up at last and looked at Kent with concern. "Did you get the choice?" I queried weakly. "The Bishop gave me a choice, frying pan or fire, zombies or sex. He filled me with the disease," I confessed. "I don't know how to tell Isaac that I chose it."

"Shit," Romero grumbled.

"No," Kent retorted hoarsely, "my choice was me or all of you, at least I thought at the time that you were included Ariadne, you, Yukie and Heather. I couldn't let them have you, I was meant to protect you. Once I made the choice she chained me up and...she's a Toreador, our kind can have such a presence, such attraction. Fuck I've never known one powerful enough to...blind me... At least for a time until she thought it was fun for me to be aware, to know what my body was doing and to hate it, to feel it and to be unable to stop it. Shit I've never...even with him...it wasn't like that...I was so weak, I failed everyone."

"No Kent," I argued as I crawled along the floor towards him, "you saved Yukie and Heather. You weren't weak either, everything they put you through for all that time and you survived, you survived it all." I paused, sitting before him with what I hoped was a safe distance. I did not like Kent this way without his cockiness and brazen confidence.

He kept shaking his head. "I want it all to stop, I keep seeing her and I keep feeling this disease shift through me, her disease. It revolts me, I need to be clean kid, I need to be purged!"

"Cured Kent not purged," I said with a weak smile, "just like me." I held out a hand to him but he shrank back from it. "I hurt too but Isaac wants to save us so please give him a chance, we owe him that."

Kent stiffened and shook his head. "He wants LaCroix for that, I can't...if he gets destroyed for helping me then what does it matter if I'm cured? I can't deal with that guilt."

"One thing at a time Kent," Romero remarked tiredly. He came to crouch near me, taking care not to get too close to me. "You both need to rest and I'm in no mood to try and tackle you or attempt some other heroic nonsense to stop you giving yourself a fatal suntan. We both know I'll only fail at it anyway and hurt myself in the process, you're too fast for me."

Kent looked at the grave guardian keenly. "Not always," he said quietly.

I looked at Romero in time to catch the small, private grin he gave Kent before he banished it. "No," he retorted softly with amusement, "not always."

Kent stood up at last and so did we, though I moved tortuously slow, doubling over as I felt vomit creep up my throat. I let out a mouthful of watery yellow sick that splashed onto the carpet before my feet.

"God kid I am sorry," Kent said hoarsely.

I wiped the sleeve of my right arm along my mouth before looking up to face the broken poet, his eyes still burned red with thirst. "It's not your fault," I insisted.

"Let's go," Romero remarked. "Kitten I'll bring you up some water." He glanced at me and I saw sorrow in his olive eyes. "Wish I could do something more," he admitted.

"Like kiss it better," I murmured. "Me too but it would be the kiss of death. The bishop made a black widow out of me." I stepped back from him with a shudder. "Now I am shunned, plague victim to ring a bell and herald disease."

"It won't be for long," Romero assured. He waited for Kent to move first. With reluctance the Toreador exited my room, moving at a normal pace. Romero followed after him.

I headed back to my bed, exhausted and aching and was relieved to pass out from the pain though less impressed to have to do so beside a small patch of my own vomit tainted spittle.

–

Even in chains Sebastian LaCroix still managed to look every inch the regal ruler. Even roughed up with bruises, cuts and a split lip that would all vanish in a few hours, tousled blonde hair and a torn shirt he still maintained an air of arrogance. His ghoul Marcurio had taken the brunt of the beating, a price for his silence over his master's whereabouts. Marcurio was now out of sight getting his wounds tended to with help from an angry Romero. I had learned it had been Rob who had come up with the idea to turn the injured Marcurio loose and track him to his master. I didn't know who had done the beating however- Damsel, Nines, Jack, Skelter? They were all candidates. Only Nines' loyalty to Isaac had stopped them from putting Sebastian's head on a pike when they finally found him.

Now here we were, Sebastian was chained up to a chair in the living room like an exhibition with Nines on his right and Rob on his left, I occupied the chair opposite, exhausted and sagging in it as I struggled to listen to as Isaac scorned him whilst Anatole danced around him chanting over and over again, "he knows to drain and purge."

Beckett lingered near me, a stoic and disapproving form. The scholar was neutral to the feud of power, he just wanted to get going to the land of Pharaohs.

Ever self-preserving Sebastian was now trying to negotiate terms with Isaac that would stop him from being traded off to Strauss.

"I know what you want," Sebastian commented haughtily, "a cure for Kent and presumably her." He gave me a distasteful look with his cool grey-blue eyes. He had asked several times about my mortality now and been denied an explanation, instead he had received a couple of punches from Rob. "And being the good politician and a Tremere Strauss has undoubtedly promised you a cure with blood magic, presumably in exchange for me." He gave Isaac a savage look and queried bitingly, "am I right so far?"

"Are you getting to a point?" Isaac queried tiredly.

"When I was Prince my streets were not overrun with plague-bearers and do you know why?"

"Your streets?" the number man echoed heatedly. He stood, the stereotypical tough in a torn vest top stained with LaCroix's blood, ripped jeans, muscular folded arms and an expression of barely subdued fury. I figured all the rebel really needed was a blood cookie and a hug.

"I assume your wooden foot soldiers beheaded them without trial," Isaac answered frostily.

Sebastian grinned at him with bloodstained fangs. "I always gave a trial but in this case no, it did not come to that for those found to have resisted exposure. You see, much like Kent, some Kindred were turned to plague-bearers against their will and rather than break the Masquerade by spreading the disease to Kine they sought out help."

"Let me guess," Isaac sneered, "you persuaded them to suicide."

Sebastian sighed and drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair impatiently. "You Toreadors have to be so dramatic about everything," he scorned. "The disease infects the blood , it was a matter of eliminating the poisoned blood." His gaze took on a cruel glimmer. "It meant starvation for the infected and a draining of their blood, some alas were driven mad from it and had to be put out of their misery. Blood bags were used to replenish the blood but it was a slow cycle trying to weaken the infection until it was purged." He looked at me again. "Infected Kine go to the hospitals and get treatment in a similar manner, blood transfusions and antibiotics to treat blood poisoning and infection until only clean blood is left."

"Strauss had a similar theory," Isaac said accusingly.

LaCroix gave a taunting laugh and shook his head. "It's no theory, I assure you."

"But it didn't always work, you've said that," Nines snapped. "Now that he's told us Isaac I say you send him to the blood mage anyway and see what he can offer."

LaCroix smiled. "Isn't it hypocritical of you to deal with the Camarilla through Strauss? Besides, do you think I'm foolish enough to have told you everything with no guarantees for myself? Isaac if you take Strauss' aid you're risking Kent and Ariadne on a baseless theory, you know the Tremere are as likely to kill them with their magic as they are to cure them, if not worse. They do enjoy their experiments but what can one expect from a clan with such a blackened history. What I offer is proven fact."

Isaac shook his head in frustration.

I thought of Kent howling in the basement where he had been sealed up to contain his thirst. He had his blood bags but he wanted fresh blood. LaCroix was right about the madness, it wasn't far from Kent and it had already infected Bishop Vick. Kent didn't want the fallen prince traded to Strauss whether he deserved it or not.

"You must purge the head," Anatole commented impatiently. "Dig out the poisoned root and burn the wasted tree then the land will be green."

"Isaac," I spoke up softly, "can I have a say in this?"

Isaac glanced over his shoulder at me with surprise as if he had forgotten I was there. His gaze filled with sorrow and he nodded.

"I will visit you with panic, with wasting disease and fever that consume the eyes and make the heart ache. And you shall sow your seed in vain, for your enemies shall eat it," Anatole commented sinisterly.

"I don't want Strauss' help," I said firmly, "not at the price he asks."

Isaac gestured angrily to the now smirking Sebastian. "And you'd pay this fiend's prince?"

"It depends what it is," I murmured quietly as I felt my chest tighten. "Strauss is a Camarilla in power, don't play his politics." I started to cough and blood spatters came up with it. When it subsidised I sensed a few pairs of thirsty eyes upon me including Sebastian's. His fingers gripped the edges on the couch tightly as his gaze sharpened trying not to give anything away.

I winced as I realised Rob was purposely looking away from me, big brother could no longer face his sister's mortality. Too many family members dead and buried, too many ghosts...

Anatole leaned down to Sebastian, pressing his face close to the Ventrue's. "Would the poisoned blood loosen the lips for truth?" he quipped.

Sebastian frowned and pulled back from the Anatole as much as he could. "Damn Malkavians," he grumbled. "Is this one to replace the other?" he queried mockingly as he glanced past Anatole to Isaac.

"I don't know," Nines murmured with a grin, "he has an idea. If we give you some of Ariadne's blood it won't make you sick but it will make you a plague-bearer and then if you want a cure well you'll just have to reveal it to us to help you get it, won't you?"

Sebastian looked horrified at this notion and his wide grey eyes looked my eye. "Isaac that would be beneath you," he remarked hastily.

"Hmm it's a little unoriginal," Isaac mused, "but I think it would be effective."

"Do it to Strauss then!" Sebastian snapped. "Not to me!"

Isaac stepped up beside Anatole, putting Sebastian in his shadow. "He's a Tremere, he would cure himself and turn the Anarch-Camarilla rivalry into a war, no. You however have no blood magic or minions, you would have to sit here and rot like Kent and Ariadne."

"You'll get thirsty sooner or later," Nines taunted, "and when you do I'll make damn sure her blood is waiting for you."

Sebastian squirmed slightly. "Alright," he snapped, "but you have to give me some guarantees! I'm not going to help you if you're going to hand me over to the trumped up wizard anyway!" He gave Nines a dirty look. "Or trade me off to the Anarchs in Downtown."

"We don't want you LaCroix," Nines snapped, "wouldn't want to make a martyr out of you."

"That's probably what Strauss would do," Sebastian snarled, "kill me and frame you all for it, the Camarilla would be quite willing to hunt you down then."

"No," Isaac said calmly, "Max wouldn't want a war. If Ariadne and Kent are cured I won't give you to him but if they're not I will. Now, enough dancing around the truth Sebastian, I grow weary of your grandstanding, what must we do to cure them?"

"You need the source, the originator of the disease. Vampires don't get sick but they can carry disease and spread it to Kine with certain means, then their blood gets infected and any Kindred that feeds on them becomes a plague-bearer and any Kine that has relations with them becomes sick as well. This is different, vampires don't get sick but eventually they burn up from carrying the strain for so long, there comes a point when their thirst is never satisfied and they are consumed by it in the end, except for him, the originator. His strain has a certain immunity to it, not that you would know to look at him."

I wondered at Kent, he was sick but not like me, his sickness came from the complications of being a Toreador, he couldn't cope with being unclean and to him disease was unclean. It wouldn't be long before he burned up with it.

"You keep saying him," Rob grumbled, "you know who it is."

"Bishop Vick," I murmured. I felt his cold hands upon my bare flesh, coaxing me to a moaning of pleasure, it had not all been bad with the bishop which made it all the worse.

Sebastian sighed and nodded. "In this case yes, he caused the disease in the Toreador Jezebel who infected Kent, a Nosferatu that preys on the homeless and you as well apparently." He narrowed his gaze at me. "Not often he infects Kine personally."

"You know a lot about this," Nines complained, "funny how these plague-bearers are still among us even with all your knowledge."

Sebastian shrugged. "I had more important things to deal with, keeping their numbers down was all I had time for. If you Anarchs weren't a thorn in my side I might have had time to obliterate them."

"Prince in armour on a white horse to save the day," Anatole mocked, "but the white horse is disease. Keeps down the numbers, it encourages the fear."

"He has a point," Isaac said calmly, "when people are afraid they're more inclined to follow. You benefited from their presence, the Kindred would have looked to you to keep them safe from the disease. Would it be too much to wonder how many of your potential foes fell victim to the taint?"

"Isaac do we have time for this speculation?" Beckett queried tiredly. "Politics won't help Ariadne or Kent. She grows weaker and more immune to the healing of my blood."

"Your blood?" Sebastian interrupted with a look of disgust. "You made her a ghoul? I thought better of you Beckett," he lamented, "you could have had a much better Kine for a servant."

"She is not my servant," Beckett retorted calmly.

"We need to find this bishop then," Rob muttered.

Isaac nodded. "Indeed and then what?" He looked to Sebastian.

"As I said, you need to drain the blood of them and replace it with clean blood but you need to add this Vick's blood to them as well."

"That doesn't make sense, isn't that what got them sick?" Nines demanded.

I tensed as I felt the truth of the matter at hand.

Sebastian gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. "No, it is only when Kindred bite the Kine that they get tainted through the blood and the disease goes from Kine to Kindred. The Kine spread it amongst themselves as they do any disease. The infected Kindred however taint the Kine and each other another way."

I thought of what Sebastian was going to say of how Jezebel spread the disease from herself to Kent to make him a plague-bearer and how Bishop Vick had passed it to me in the hopes that other Kindred might feed on me and be cursed as plague-bearers by my blood.

"Intercourse got them sick," Sebastian said with disgust, "a lowly thing for a Kindred to do. Why bother with sex when the feeding is that much more. I said the taint was in the blood but when it comes from the Kindred it comes from the intercourse first, the disease is spread that way to infect the blood. Yes, Vick's blood is diseased too and will make them sick first but it will give them the strain of immunity to begin the fight. When you remove the tainted blood the strain of immunity should stay. Perhaps if you were so inclined you could cure this bishop too and stop his taint, personally I would turn him to ash for his crimes."

I felt Isaac's wondering stare upon me and knew he wondered at my suffering. I couldn't admit that it hadn't all been bad, that he had used his Presence to seduce me. The Bishop had been gentle until the biting had begun, there was a sense of care in his evil and I wondered at the vampire before the taint or the poor man turned against his will to be a creature of the night. What of his flock? The Toreador Jezebel and the Nosferatu who was condemned to the sewers for his looks and lonelier than the rest of his kind for his taint, a man who had only homeless victims come for company. Yes I could see how the madness had taken him. Was it why the Bishop spread his disease? Anger at his fate, loneliness? What was this Ninth Circle he made murmurings of? Violence and blood to get you closer to it, yes through the violence they ascended, through bloodshed and diabelere one climbed the ranks.

"The ascending in the afterlife," I murmured, "the afterlife of a mortal- a vampire, climbing the ranks through bloody violence, getting notice from the elders, stealing their followers whilst in torpor, absorbing their power, ever growing with diseased followers. Each time you get noticed you ascend through a circle of court, closer and closer to the dark lord and his inner circle."

I remembered his bare chest, chalk white with veins of blue and a tattoo in blood red ink of a fanged skull in a fiery red star. "Bloody skull in the star," I mumbled.

My coughing began anew only this time the blood almost choked me it was so thick. It came up reluctantly, a large, sticky, blackened blood that told of the rot in my lungs. As I forced it up I fell to my knees and screamed in pain. My head burned and sweat soaked me as I heaved and heaved again in an effort to expel it.

"A symbol of death and hope," Anatole mused, "the fallen star, Lucifer."

When the blood came up I sagged in exhaustion and mewled in pain, shutting my eyes to the sting of the light.

"We need to find this bishop," Rob snarled. It was the last I heard before I passed out from pain.


	15. Chapter 14- Blood Bonds

_The sandcastle wasn't high enough. They were never high enough._

" _What are you building for anyway?" the master voice asked crossly._

 _I glanced at him impatiently. Two halves to make one whole, madness and poetry, a little like myself and Kent. The master voice stood in the shade of a pyramid as he awaited the approaching darkness eagerly. His pale hand gestured outwards to the desert and the receding red rivers. "The blood is going, yours, the sickness, the wolf's, all of it, you'll be a dried up husk, a mummy, perfect for the desert." He let out a cackle before following it with a mournful sigh. "I was so certain that would be freedom from you but I think was a little quick with that hmm yes like a train I need a track, a thread to follow back to the web. Awful troublesome when you forget where you left things you know like cufflinks, boots and bodies."_

 _I ignored the voice and resumed building my sandcastle, it needed to be tall with many turrets to withstand the danger. Of course one had to make the sand damp first to have it firm, that was logic, feed the body of the sand with the blood of the river. Yes, something like that. I picked up my bucket and scurried to the river but the voice was right, it was going._

" _Little Sarah I'm not impressed."_

 _I stopped at the edge of the river, now barely a trickling stream of crimson there was a shadowy figure on the other side. I looked up and saw him smiling, when the sun vanished the shadow would be free to strike._

 _I scooped up what blood I could and returned to the castle._

" _Remember Sarah if you don't build it well enough you will owe me something."_

 _No, no, had to build. The blood was going. My movements were slow and sluggish. The darkness was coming. I was out of time and the sandcastle wasn't high enough._

I felt my eyelids twitch as I tried and failed to open them and became aware of a beeping sound. Life. Steady, confident life. Me. My heart. My pulse. I felt heavy and tired, weak and lost. Something was missing. I felt a rush of fear and let out a hoarse groan. "Master wolf?" I realised the oddity then and the fear in me grew. His blood was gone, the lead unclipped and I turned loose. I was mortal again. Weak mortal Sarah, no strength against the bullies, no one will come when uncle makes you scream, no one will hear it. I didn't like it. "Master wolf! Master wolf please! Don't leave! Don't leave!" Wait, hadn't I wanted the wolf to leave and set me free? Freedom or loneliness? Which was which?

A ringing in my ears turned into a roar. The voice fallen from the web scorned, "I want you to die you don't, I want you to live you won't. What do they call this? Irony? My sister would love this. Poetic irony or mad stupidity? So close to the sands, you could build all the sandcastles you want out there."

Voice thought death meant freedom but it wouldn't, voice would be bound to this one's corpse, no way to the web, no way back to the lost body in torpor. Torpor, four dead in the desert, no not dead, sleeping, don't wake them Goldilocks these bears will be very hungry.

The shadow man took form, Rob and dad's dark auburn hair, bright green eyes, a flashing ten watt smile, handsome, single, charming Uncle Charlie. Disgusting, lecherous abuser Uncle Charlie. No one could know, they would only get angry, say you lied, say you made him do it, Sarah the slut. Yes, isn't that what the last master said? Sarah the whore. The fallen master's friends are coming, they feel the disease in the city, they enjoy the unrest, they're coming for knowledge and power.

"She's stable but she won't last."

Charlie was the master of the voices, Charlie was their creator, one night in the shadows he had hurt too much and a voice had come after promising to take away the pain.

"How can she still need the blood?" The mournful wail of the Baron.

"I think with Ariadne this is more complicated than the usual," the dry tones of the scholar. "Her +/*65ndency is based on mental well-being as well as physical, perhaps a trait from being Malkavian, perhaps simply from being her."/

"Been in the dark too long, she can't handle the light, it's not her friend anymore. 'Then watch out that the light in you is not darkness.' Without the strain of darkness she is weak." Beckett's mad friend.

"So she can't ever be human?" My Baron sounded tragic about it but there was a hollowness to his words, he had never wanted me human and now he was glad he didn't have to force the choice, it was made.

"I can give her the blood again."

Master wolf! Yes! I was lost without the pack, no one to hear me howl, no one to know when the danger was near. I missed the clan too, the voices on the web, never alone, I hated being alone.

"It doesn't end then," Isaac lamented.

"You can't embrace her like this," Beckett scorned.

"Well he could," Anatole chirped up brightly, "madness is poetry, poetry is madness, one halves of the same whole somewhat, I prefer the mad side of things mind. Although that sick kindred you have makes the line blur, mad and a lover of beauty, delightful!"

Sick kindred? Kent? The Bishop? Pale cold flesh upon my warm skin, freezing it and yet making it tingle in an odd fashion.

There was a loud boom noise and I felt shaking. Was it in the mind? More voices. Footsteps, yelling.

"Shit is she not awake yet?! We need to go! You need to go!"

"What is it Nines?"

"They're here."

* * *

 _I felt myself sucked down without warning, pulled rapidly into darkness. For a moment there was silence and then I hit the ground and a ringing noise replaced the vacuum of sound. I stood quickly, at once curious about my new situation. I tensed seeing a little girl seated before me with her back to me. Long, wild, dark hair that almost concealed a black pinafore. Her left hand clutched a limp puppy teddy, yellow with brown patches, I'd called him Rusty._

 _She turned suddenly and looked up at me with an angry grey stare. "He's coming," she hissed out. She started to crawl towards me, rapidly, panting like a wild animal as she did. I wanted to flee but not from her but the man she warned of. I wanted to crouch down and clutch her to me and hide us both to prevent the horrors that would become nightmares. I couldn't move._

 _I heard footsteps coming from the darkness, the heavy, brown, sand stained boots of Uncle Charlie. The stale odour of cheap beer, salted nuts and the salt of the sea filled the air, his odour. I needed to run._

 _He staggered into sight with a beer bottle swinging in his right hand, pale blue shirt loose and untucked, and worn jeans held tight with a brown belt. He grinned at me hungrily, his grey eyes burning with anticipation. "Sarah you don't have a sandcastle ready for me," he said with false disappointment. "Guess you gotta make me happy some other way."_

 _I smiled and shook my head. "I'm not Sarah," I said brightly._

" _No, who are you then?" he quipped tauntingly._

 _Good question. Could I take up the mantle of the lost princess without the fangs? Was Ariadne not the Malkavian and Sarah the mortal? Did a ghoul still count as mortal? Wait, was I a ghoul?_

 _I felt his hands slam suddenly down on my shoulders as he gripped them tight. The beer bottle was gone. "You're still Sarah," he said softly with a leering smirk. "Sweet, soft Sarah," he murmured as his right hand reached up to stroke my cheek. "Uncle Charlie's favourite girl because she's a good girl, she doesn't fight or scream, she just makes her uncle happy and stays quiet, ain't that right?"_

 _For a long time that had been right. For too long now I had always seemed to find myself enslaved to another- Uncle Charlie, the fickle whims of Chase and Phil, the vampires in mask, LaCroix who held the hand of the Sheriff with the executioner's axe, the Tzimisce. In the human world a slave, in the vampire world a slave, in the ghoul world a slave. I had to end it._

 _I reached to the back of my shirt where I usually had a sword ready and I felt the comforting touch of a metal and wooden hilt. I yanked it out swiftly and I swung it hard. The blood splashed my face as Charlie screamed, burning hot and so sweet on the lips. I licked at it rapidly, I wanted it, I missed it._

 _My vision filled red with the blood and Uncle Charlie was no more, at least in my mind._

* * *

"Why must you Anarchs be so prone to rebellion even when it doesn't serve your interest?" I recognised the cutting voice of Strauss immediately.

"We had another offer," Isaac retorted bluntly. I knew from his guarded tone that he acknowledged he had made a poor choice in LaCroix's advice but he would never admit to Strauss. Of course I was still semi-conscious and wondering why the choice in LaCroix had become poor, what had gone wrong?

"And now you will pay a bigger price for your foolish mistake," Strauss chided.

"The Aralu mean nothing to me," Isaac retorted dismissively.

There was a low growl and I became aware of a warm fluffy presence at my feet. Master wolf. I opened my eyes wearily at last and glimpsed a blur of white fur at the foot of my bed.

"And LaCroix means something? We had an agreement and I would have honoured it Isaac, I would have helped you in exchange for him and I would have brought him to justice, proper justice, no Anarch kangaroo court without a fair trial or punishment."

"That jackal is one of the worst of your kind," Isaac retorted angrily.

"Then why?" Strauss quipped calmly.

They were on opposing sides of the bed and only when I glanced to the left and Isaac's way did I become aware of his cool hand grasping at my limp one. I looked to the right to Strauss and felt a prickle of pain as I noticed the tube from my arm that linked up to a blood bag Strauss was waving his hands over. I let out a hiss of pain as I felt a burn.

"Ariande?" Isaac queried worriedly.

I looked to the Baron in again and was soothed a little by his sympathetic honey stare. "What happened?" I queried hoarsely.

"You all tried to cure this disease without my help and failed," Strauss answered haughtily, "but such is the Anarch way to charge on without the guidance of the Camarilla."

"Nines had ghoul hospital workers assist with the blood transfusions," Isaac explained, "it seemed to work for Kent and it seemed to work for you but then you..." He paused and seemed to puzzle over his word choice. "You weren't stable with only human blood."

Human was weak, as a human I had been exploited by Uncle Charlie.

"Then the Sabbat attacked," Isaac added angrily, "the only things worse than Camarilla minions. It was only the scouts so we were able to defeat them but we had to leave. Beckett gave you some of his blood but you didn't take to it."

"So he had to come to me," Strauss concluded coolly. "You and that Toreador who seems in favour of LaCroix would have perished otherwise."

"Yes Strauss," Isaac grumbled crossly, "I will admit that was a possibility and that you did save them. You would have my gratitude if it was enough but it's not." Isaac looked back to me with a dejected stare. "Ariadne you willed me to keep LaCroix out of it for Kent's sake, I wanted to relent but he thought he wouldn't make it, we all did for a while and he begged me. He was throwing up black blood, I couldn't even get near him, he pleaded for that narcissistic pomp though I cannot say I understand why so for you and him I had to renegotiate and quickly."

"You're being unnecessarily dramatic about it, I have asked for no lives or prisoners," Strauss murmured. "I desire only to accompany you when you follow after the Aralu."

I twitched at the word.

"You all mentioned it at once," Isaac murmured darkly.

I looked to the Baron curiously though my eyes were beginning to water at the edges and my head was starting to tighten at the brow and pound.

"You," he nodded to Beckett, "his mad friend and apparently the mad Bishop, all of you screamed about the Ninth Circle where the ancient four lay."

I couldn't recall such ranting and yet it sounded right. "The inner circle where the gods play, the Ninth Circle," I mused.

Isaac nodded grimly. "I would have preferred we were not to go chasing such potentially dangerous foes in the middle of a desert but it is the only bargain I could make with Strauss and still see...that Camarilla fool spared."

I nodded in understanding. "The voices won't be silent about the Aralu, I have to go to silence them," I said softly. I turned my head slowly to face Strauss again, wincing at the stiffness of my neck. "What about Kent?"

"He is in better form than you," Strauss said with a hint of pride in his voice, "and feeding on human blood again."

I had to force myself to look at Isaac again to get a true answer. "What about Kent?" I repeated with a worried stare.

"I just answered that," Strauss grumbled.

"She means his well-being," Isaac chided, "we are more than just blood sucking corpses Max."

"Toreadors," Struass complained. "Really Isaac I don't think us robots or zombies either and I am perfectly capable of feelings but it was an open question, forgive me for thinking she was asking after his health since that is what was jeopardized."

Isaac shook his head scornfully. "Kent is still troubled," he admitted quietly, "although calmer since Romero...dealt with the Toreador woman."

I heard an echo of bloody screams that went on for hours and shuddered. "You captured her?"

"Jezebel, the ugly monster called Brother Kanker and the disgusting worm Bishop Vick whom I personally would have beheaded had Strauss not insisted otherwise."

"We needed his blood," Strauss reminded him.

"Needed not need," Isaac grumbled.

"Well after what your ghoul did," Strauss remarked haughtily, "and given the rare nature of the disease it seemed essential to preserve at least one of them. At any rate this Bishop Vick may yet be cured of his strain too and without the originator of his strain," he added smugly with a flicker of a fanged grin.

"What did Romero do?" I pried with reluctance. I did not want to have images to add to the screams but curiosity wouldn't allow me to leave the issue alone. I recalled Jezebel faintly, the pretty spider beckoning us into her parlour with a sinful stare.

"It wasn't justice whatever you call it," Strauss answered.

"It was vengeance," Isaac admitted with a troubled look, "and that is all you need to hear Ariadne." He leaned down and stroked my cheek tenderly. "You are weak and tired yet and need to rest and the sun will be up soon." He glanced Beckett's way again. The wolf had been so quiet I had almost thought him asleep but his red eyes were wide and sharp and his ears perked, he missed nothing. "Beckett has already agreed to stay with you, at least for now."

"Why is he in that form again?" Strauss pried.

"Ask him yourself," Isaac murmured. He planted a kiss upon my brow and stood upright again.

I knew there was more for me to hear and learn about our predicament but Isaac was right, I was tired and I was sore too and started to long for rest again. I let my eyes close and gave way to exhaustion.

* * *

 _Sorry for the wait guys, December was not a good month for me. Sorry for the shortness of the chapter too, it's more of an interlinking chapter I suppose and it actually was a struggle to write because I wasn't sure about where to take Ariadne from here or Strauss' role. Anyway, I think I've got it all worked out, hopefully, and I hope you enjoy it! Also hope I'm doing Strauss justice, I actually quite like him it's just I can't resist siding with Isaac everytime in the game and taddling on Strauss to Isaac and thus earning his eternal ire._


	16. Chapter 15- Madness Multiplies

The rain felt good against my skin. It fell in heavy, icy drops that struck against my bare flesh and made me feel alive. Alive, it was a strange sensation, one I had suffered for a few months now but never been able to enjoy or appreciate. Even now I had little desire for the life I had once again been rewarded with, I was too vulnerable as a mortal, weak to the voices as well as the many afflictions that plagued humans.

"Ariadne?"

His voice was soft, barely audible against the roar of the rain. He was reluctant to disturb me but fearful of leaving me. As a mortal I could be subject to a cold, fever or worse from standing in the cold rain for too long. It would be selfish of me to subject myself to sickness when I had only just been cured. Although, I did not think cured was quite the word. Bishop Vick's sickness might be removed from me but his touch had left its mark and I would never forget it. A week I had been recovering and yet I had still not ventured to see my attacker. He was allegedly cured too, a triumph of the blood wizard's but I had my doubts. He survived at Strauss' behest, part of his bargain with Isaac I had learned. I knew why Isaac had made the bargains he had made but I did not have to like it.

Isaac stepped up to me, grey blazer off and held out in a hopeful gesture. I couldn't deny it so I accepted the blazer and tugged it about my shoulders before slipping my arms through sleeves far too long for me.

"I never feel like me anymore," I said softly, "I'm Sarah in body but not in mind, Ariadne in mind but not in body and the vampire mind is plagued by vampire thoughts in the desert." I reached up to my brow with my right hand and pressed a damp palm against it. "The pain is numb but the images are always present, they won't leave me until I find them but I don't know what will happen then, will they devour this fly?"

"No," Isaac answered firmly as he reached out a hand to stroke my cheek gently, "I will never allow that."

I stepped closer to him and gifted him with a smile. Tall, proud, stoic Toreador, handsome and subdued, not the type to be paired with a mad young woman unrefined in culture and ever darting between phases of chaos and darkness and yet here we were.

"I love you," I confessed, "but I don't know what it means anymore, if it's selfish of me to burden you with the affections of a mortal spoiled in the mind and body."

His lips brushed against mine, warm from a recent feed and still faint with the copper taste of blood. I responded, eager to feel the touch of another who wanted me out of love, who desired to please me rather than control me, to adore me rather than hurt me. I wanted to feel something other than pain and confusion, I wanted this distraction. I reached for his belt hastily and for once he didn't stop me. I was surprised that the Baron was allowing a crude rendezvous on the streets and wondered if he has missed my touch this past while as much as I had missed his.

I jumped and he readied to catch me, his bare palms grasping at my buttocks under the folds of my skirt before he pressed me against a brick wall for support. I grinned and wrapped my arms about his neck before pulling his head forward forcefully, burrowing it against my breasts through a gap in my shirt.

I felt Isaac's hunger heighten as my pulse beat faster bringing my blood closer to the surface. Death, immortality, vampirism, with just a little prompting I could have it. I leaned my head back against the wall to expose my throat with a moan as I parted my legs about Isaac and welcomed his presence inside me. He kissed around my throat but he didn't bite me, he never would unless I asked it but I didn't think I could. I wanted to be Kindred again but I couldn't be a Toreador. The madness combined with the poetry might make an antitribu of me, a clan member gone rogue, perhaps even dancing to the side of the Sabbat.

I closed my eyes and kept my head tipped back to enjoy the fall of the rain upon them. I abandoned my woes to pleasure as Isaac moved faster against me. It felt good again, it hadn't felt good for so long. The Baron had had centuries of perfecting the techniques, an unfair advantage at times and a wonderful benefit at others. I gripped his hair with my left hand and sank my right hand down his back, pulling him closer against me as I kissed him deeply on the lips and licked at the minute blood droplets on his tongue.

"Faster," I pleaded as the rush of pleasure neared. It had been so long since I had last enjoyed sex and I wondered would I ever enjoy it again with Isaac or would this business with the Aralu rip us apart. I let out a cry of delight as I orgasmed but realised quickly with a pang of sorrow that it wasn't what it had been when I was Malkavian. As a vampire I had been more reckless and Isaac had been able to be more careless with me, my body wasn't so fragile as a vampire and it could move faster. I had more energy too and could last longer but as a human my body spent quicker.

I sagged against the Baron with a pleasurable sigh and allowed him to lower me back to the ground. He was swift in composing himself, taking care to smooth down the wrinkles in his clothes and push his stray hairs back into place, ever the perfect Toreador.

I wobbled slightly on my feet and accepted his hand, allowing him to pull me back to the town house we took refuge in. It was to be our last night here before we all departed on a lengthy journey to Egypt where four ancients supposedly lay in slumber. As for who we all was that was interesting- myself and Isaac of course, Strauss because that was part of the deal, my beloved master Beckett, Anatole because he gave us no choice, Rob because he wouldn't leave me, Damsel because she wouldn't leave him and Romero because he was Isaac's ghoul. I assumed Kent was coming too and Heather as his ghoul but there was no confirmation of this, Yukie was also an unknown factor and no one had discussed La Croix in my presence.

I wondered too about the ones left in Hollywood- V.V, Ash and Ginger- Hollywood was safe since we had left. The Tzimisce had departed in our wake avoiding war on the starry streets. Order had been restored with ease and even the hunters had backed off, pursuing the more dangerous Sabbat as they stood out just a little more than the preened Toreadors. I missed the Toreadors and Hollywood, I missed Ash's scorn, Ginger's gentle mannerisms as she overlooked my oddities and smiled with affection at the weird things I did, adoring me because Isaac did, and even V.V's way with words as dominated with lips and hips rather than brute strength. They were a formidable trio and I felt a little lost without them even if they didn't like me.

Mostly I felt lost without Kent. I wanted his snark, his sarcastic scorn, the roll of his eyes and his blunt curses that were so unbecoming of a Toreador but so very Kent. I missed his consoling too, the way he would sigh and reluctantly hug me or pat me on the way, ever the unwilling brother. It was unfair on Rob that I found a better relationship with Kent but Rob was angry, violent and sharp tongued, he cared but he wouldn't risk showing it again. Rob had lost too much in life, which was why he stayed with Damsel, she alone could accept him, she had a way of sharing of rage and even a way of calming it. Damsel liked rough love, for her there was nothing else and like Rob she wanted another. Rob wanted his dead wife, Damsel wanted Nines, they were unrequited but at least least with each other they weren't alone.

"Did you really think you could take off to find four antediluvians and it would escape my notice?"

We entered the town house to the haughty, scolding voice of a newcomer. I bristled warily and instinctively shrank back behind Isaac. Once I would have boldly skipped forward, curious and unafraid, but my experiences with the Bishop had made me cautious and all too fearful of my vulnerability.

"I had hoped as much, yes," my master answered dryly.

"Always the serious one," I heard Anatole scorn. "And a snake, a paranoid, filthy snake, serpent Judas!"

"Yes because you have avoided our clan's paranoia so well," the stranger retorted sardonically.

"I knew master collected the mad," I said smugly.

I felt Isaac's golden gaze upon me and glanced up to see him frowning with disapproval. "Are you suggesting we have another Malkavian in our midst?" he queried wearily.

I nodded with a smile. "If the top hat fits," I retorted confidently.

Isaac continued to lead the way up the narrow hall, following the voice into a small lounge room on the right where Beckett, Anatole and the stranger had taken refuge. Anatole was occupied with exchanging glowers with the head of the bearskin rug as he paced over its skinned back and almost slipped twice whilst Beckett was standing, arms crossed and looking heatedly at the new arrival who was glancing up at a painting of a field of cows.

"I always wonder what cows think," I said quietly as Isaac led me into the room.

"Rebellion," Anatole answered confidently, "one day the milk will sour and then they will know vengeance."

I realised at the silence that followed that I was missing the sarcastic scorn of Kent. The poet had been silent and sombre since Jezebel's attack on him and despite being healed from it he still chose solitude in the basement save for when he had to feed and then he either fed on Heather in a quick and unfeeling matter or he hunted with Rob and Damsel.

"Well at least I have some master of our curse," the stranger said frostily as his dark stare fell on me, "although you should too given you are mostly free of it."

"Mostly?" Beckett echoed.

"Beckett any fool can see that girl still bears the marks of Malkav, mortal or no," the man scorned.

I felt a burn of annoyance rush through me and realised it was Beckett's annoyance for this new arrival. Recovery from my sickness had included a stronger dependency on Beckett's blood. Unable to survive as a mortal I had barely survived the Bishop's curse as a ghoul. Strauss considered it a failure whilst everyone else was happy just to have me well and existing for another day. I wasn't sure how to feel about it, I didn't want to be human but my devotion for Beckett was just another kind of madness for me to be cursed with.

The newcomer approached me rapidly, his leather boots making a hard thump on the wooden floor with each step. He was dressed in the finery of a Victorian gentleman with an ebony ponytail and a Van Dyke styled beard and moustache that a hipster would envy, all rather neat and noble for a Malkavian and yet he was one of us, or rather one of them.

'Us,' the chief voice called in my head, 'one of my many children, another link to the web you dragged me off.'

He sniffed the air about me in deep snorts before looking from me to Beckett with ire. "You hate ghouls," he stated bluntly.

"It was a necessity," Beckett retorted tiredly. It was odd but I could detect a hint of protest in his voice like he was defending himself against a telling off.

"You hate me?" I queried sorrowfully.

Beckett frowned at me. "No young one I do not hate you," he said wearily. I felt his tired irritation and filled with sorrow until I realised it was directed at the stranger and not me.

"No," the man murmured as he pressed a single finger against my forehead, "you like her."

Isaac slapped his gloved hand down from my head angrily. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The man stepped back, gave an eccentric grin and announced dramatically, "I am Aristotle de Laurent." He drew his left arm across his chest and bowed before extending a hand to Isaac. "And you?"

"Isaac Abrams," Isaac answered as he looked at the hand distastefully.

I looked to the black glove and spied the dark stain on the palm that was obviously unsettling Isaac. "I'm Ariadne...I think," I introduced with uncertainty.

"Ah well we all only think we know who we are," Aristotle said merrily, "but no one really knows, how can we? You're given a name at someone else's decision but how can they be right, how can they know your future and know that name will suit it?"

"Beckett why is Mr de Laurent here?" Isaac queried calmly.

"To join the expedition," Aristotle answered cheerfully.

"He wasn't invited," Anatole complained as he looked at Aristotle sullenly. "Brutus," he accused, "stab us all in the back and make a salad with his treachery, et tu Brute!"

"He's a Noddist," Beckett attempted an explanation, "and a Malkavian as you have gathered."

"I'm his sire," Aristotle bragged, "come now Beckett don't be embarrassed by your family just because we've had a fallout." He looked at Isaac keenly with eyes dark as bitter chocolate. "Let us all learn about other, who are you Mr. Abrams and why," he paused and sniffed the air keenly, "do you choose to have intercourse with this ghoul but not a feeding? Isn't the blood savouring that much more of a pleasure?"

"How does that work?" I marvelled before Isaac could shout a retort. "Isn't master a wolf? How can a shapeshifter be sired by a crazy?" I cocked my head in puzzlement. "Does he wear the guise of madman instead of sheep?"

"No," Beckett protested, "really Aristotle you cannot attempt to claim familial connections so you will be accepted on this exploration. There is no reason to allow you when you're liable to take whatever we might find and run off with it," his lips tugged down in a scowl as he added pointedly, "just like last time."

Aristotle waved off the accusation airily. "It was a matter of business Beckett and knowledge, I had to learn and I feared running out of time for it to all make sense, the madness you see, it makes a confusion of the knowledge sometimes. One wonders if it might make sense of it too, find the hidden meaning in the ancient passages, conspiracies from old times, oh the possibilities of the webbed mind!"

"I'm not sharing the map," Anatole snapped as he glowered at Aristotle once more. "You're a heathen and you will only taint us with your presence."

"But you will share that we have a map," Isaac complained as he looked at Anatole with a scornful amber glower.

"Isn't it a conflict of interest to hunt vampire lords in the desert?" I pondered as I looked at Anatole curiously. "Would Jesus approve of that?"

"It doesn't say in the Bible that he wouldn't," Anatole answered defensively.

"Hmm the Apostles must have skipped that chapter," Beckett murmured, "where they talk about Jesus' policies concerning vampires."

"Anyway," Isaac interrupted, "how did you find us Mr de Laurent?"

Ah Isaac, demonstrating the good manners of a Baron, still polite though I knew he probably wanted to tear this new Malkavian's head from his shoulders.

Aristotle beamed over at Isaac again. "Oh it was easy, like buttering bread," he said proudly, " or would that be putting jam on bread?" He paused and tapped his right hand against his brow with a look of frustation. "Damn it all what is it now?" He began to hum. "Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye," he murmured the rhyme hastily under his breath. Delighted with the tune I began to clap along. "The king was in his counting house counting out his money; the queen was in the parlor eating bread and honey. Aha!" He snapped his fingers with delight. "That's it, that's what I mean, it was as easy as eating bread and honey, no, no, putting honey on bread!"

"That doesn't explain how you found us," Isaac retorted impatiently with a frosty look of ire.

Aristotle looked back at him in confusion before he frowned. "No I suppose it doesn't." He grinned again and said, "I simply followed the same trail as those troublesome Tzimisce!"

We all tensed at that revelation and I started to shake. The edges of my vision turned red and I murmured, "Sascha is coming, Sascha will seek to devour the mind, to eat up the knowledge of the dead in the desert. Sascha will hurt, Sascha will bend the flesh to crack the mind!"

"Ariadne be calm," Beckett ordered, "the Tzimisce are not here."

I felt Isaac's hands about me in a gentle embrace. "I promise no harm will come to you," he said softly.

"They make everything burn," I moaned, "the mind, the flesh, they shift it and they destroy it." I shook my head. "Sascha will devour the mind slowly, he will savour the breaking, suck the knowledge to leave a shattered husk and it won't be repaired." I tugged free of Isaac and looked to Anatole and then Beckett in despair. "You know it, ancient foe, neither one way nor the other, ever seeking knowledge, always hungry for answers, Sascha won't be satiated." I clutched both hands to my skull and shook my head.

Loud footsteps called down the corridor as their owner came to us quickly with a wild look of alarm. It was Romero clutching a blood bag of the finest vitae in his left hand. "Kent's gone," he stated flatly as he became aware of Aristotle and tried to summon some calm. His worried olive eyes darted to Isaac. "Isaac I've looked everywhere and it's sun up soon and he hasn't feed in three nights."

* * *

 _Ah goodness are these guys ever going to get to Egypt? I've been wanting to bring Aristotle into this for a long time but I've been afraid of writing him because I only know what the wiki says about him. So I don't know if I've done a good job of him or not._

 _I realise this fic is confusing, it's difficult writing it at times because Ariadne/Sarah is meant to be mentally unhinged making her an unreliable author but this fic is told from her point of view. So, I'm trying to keep it flowing but showing her craziness and showing it's a different strain of craziness now that she's not a Malkavian but she is still influenced by Malkav._

 _I know the last chapter was especially confusing. Uncle Charlie is real, Ariadne has killed the spectre of him that haunts her mind at last (in the last chapter) but he is still alive in reality, he's also connected to her obsession with sandcastles. Ariadne and Kent have been cured of the blood disease caused by the Brotherhood, at least physically. Bishop Vick and Brother Kanker are still around and are effectively prisoners of Strauss but Jezebel met an unpleasant fate courtesy of Romero. I've always wanted to explore what the Ninth Circle and the Brotherhood could be and give a little more depth to that._


	17. Chapter 16- The Pain of Poetry

Revenge. It was a sordid desire that we many fell weak to. A need that often led to violence and death. We had initially split to try and find Kent, I with Isaac, Beckett, Anatole and Aristotle. It was Isaac who suspected Kent might have gone seeking vengeance on the remaining members of the Brotherhood- Bishop Vick and a Nosferatu known only to me by name, Brother Kanker. So we had headed in the direction of the domain in Downtown where Strauss was keeping them. It was halfway there that everything turned to shit.

A ghoul greeted us on the main streets, a tattooed, six feet something, all muscle, pale skinned man who barely looked human anymore. He had had numerous abuses to his body- ear lobes pulled down and punched through with holes, a piercing in either nostril, one at the left eyebrow and two gold clamps on either ear, all probably to detract from the minute horns growing up under the flesh at the top of his brow, barely concealed by his mop of greasy auburn hair, and the misshaping of his jaw that pointed down like an exaggerated cartoon, and the bumps on his shoulders just visible beneath his jacket that suggested shoulder guards though I knew it was flesh and bone. He was a Tzimisce ghoul, the flesh manipulation was enough of an indication without the red edging his eyes, the hint of hate and bloodlust in the pupils, the bloodstain at his lips and the crimson staining his fingertips. He smiled at us and raised the object in his left hand- it was Kent's black leather jacket only it had holes in it now and a slick smearing of blood that the jacket couldn't absorb.

"Sascha Vykos, my master, has requested that we delay the inevitable and you follow me if you want to see the pretty one again," the ghoul addressed us a deep, rumbling voice. His hateful gaze darted up to Beckett. "You must Beckett, he is eager to meet you again."

"I'm sure he is," Beckett retorted sardonically, "but alas, I am not so eager, rarely does Sascha choose to meet one under peaceful circumstances."

"Can't even decide if it's male or female," Anatole murmured sardonically, "but I'm the mad one."

"You are the mad one," Aristotle scorned, "all religious zealots are mad."

Anatole clamped both his hands over his ears and chanted, "la, la, la, can't hear you traitor, I am deaf to the sound of a snake tongue!"

"She has advised she will make permanent scars about the Toreador that she will never heal," the ghoul warned as he wisely chose to ignore the mad squabbling. He took a care to emphasise 'she' but whether it was because Beckett had chosen 'he' or Anatole had mocked about it I didn't know, maybe Sascha was identifying as a she these days.

"Isaac," I piped up fearfully, "Kent would never recover from that." I looked to Isaac and saw him frowning back at the ghoul as rage danced in golden gaze.

"A jacket is no proof of captivity," Isaac countered.

The ghoul shrugged. "Any other proof would have meant mutilation. He was easy to spy, rambling about the Brotherhood taking everything from him as he hurried up the streets. You should thank us, he was running too fast, the humans would have noticed."

"You would be foolish to deal with Sascha," Aristotle spoke up, "he is a deceitful, manipulative liar."

"Just like you," Anatole remarked brightly, he had removed his hands in time to hear the remark. "Ugly and mad like you too," he added with a grin.

Aristotle bristled at the accusations and frowned at Anatole. "Beckett I understand you may have been lonely for a Malkavian after our parting but you seem to have gone from bad to worse with these two." He nodded ruefully at me.

"I'm not Malkavian," I said woefully, "mortal first when building sandcastles on the beach to keep Charlie away, the white wolf watched high from the cliffs, then killed on the beach by the mad poet. I fought the ancient and the mad master rewarded me with mortality to save me from the ultimate destruction when the web is broken. My first sunrise was by the beach. Everything important happens on the sand."

I clenched my fists as I glimpsed the beautiful snake charmer dancing again, twirling and swinging veils as she spun barefoot on the sand. She paused and looked at me with a silvery gaze. "I want only to save my twin," she murmured to me. "Find us deep in the sand."

"Who's Charlie?" Isaac pried thoughtfully.

I stiffened at the name and shook my head. "Now must be time for Kent."

"That dumb Toreador has run into his own fate, leave him to it," Aristotle said haughtily.

"No!" I shouted in protest. "No, I won't leave him! I won't! I'll go alone!"

"You won't," Isaac said sternly as he grasped my right hand tightly.

I felt a sharp spark of surprise and intrigue from Beckett and turned my gaze to his burning crimson one. "Even after all you suffered under the Tzimisce you would go back to them?" Beckett queried curiously. "After they enslaved you and tortured you and made you forget yourself? All that and without hesitation you would go after the Toreador? He did choose to travel on his own in a weakened state, it was foolishness on his part," he added dryly.

"He's been hurt too, he just wanted the pain to end," I protested, "she took something from him. Kent's big brother, Kent came to the ivory tower when no one else would, Kent hugged this form when it was ugly and crippled and every other Toreador squirmed, Kent always comes!" I felt tears burning at my eyes as a wash of memories of Kent and I rushed over me. Much of my time as a Kindred was still hazy, I remembered the emotions and the more important details I thought but so much was still lost to the trauma of turning into a mortal and then a Tzimisce ghoul and then a Gangrel ghoul so close together. I remembered the beach again only it wasn't frantic pawing to make the sandcastles high as quickly as possible to please Charlie, it was competing with Kent to make the grandest one for the crab king. Kent always complained, Kent was always embarrassed but Kent always gave in anyway. When the pretty women in Hollywood had pointed and sneered and laughed at me sitting on a swing Kent had come over, flustered and grumbling that I should get off because I was too big and looked silly but then he pushed me anyway and he smiled when I laughed.

"Isaac please," I begged, "Kent always comes for me." I started to sob. "Kent came to the Tzimisce den twice, he hates them and he fears them but he came, he came!"

"Shush," Isaac murmured, "we will go Ariadne."

"I won't," Beckett surprised us both with a calm refusal.

"Master?" I pulled away from Isaac and looked at Beckett in a stunned disbelief.

"Young one the Toreador is doomed and it is a trap," Beckett said frankly, "Sascha does not play fair and he does not negotiate or meet for peace talks. He wants you to torture you to learn about the Aralu but you know that, you've been saying it ever since we found you in Valyrion's den. He is going to destroy Kent no matter what, slowly to get the truth from you, quickly if you don't come. Avoiding this trap would be kinder to Kent."

"No! NO! NO!" I shrieked.

"Young one don't be foolish."

There it was, a command from master that I had to obey. I looked at him seriously and said firmly, "it's not foolish." I turned and started walking towards the ghoul. "Where is he? Take me there now!"

"Us," Isaac snapped as he seized my hand up once again.

"No," I said pleadingly as I glanced up at the Baron, "he wants me Isaac, maybe if I go alone he'll let Kent go."

"Ariadne I'm not repeating before," Isaac said firmly, "you were alone with them before, twice not it's happened, there can't be a third time."

"We'll get a head start at least," Aristotle remarked unkindly. He, Beckett and Anatole were watching us walk towards the ghoul without protest. None of the three made a move to intervene or help.

"No we Judas," Anatole snarled sullenly. "She knows the way, I have the map, I have the key but what does she have? God guides me, who guides her? Must be faster than the Tzimisce."

"They will use you against me, you and Kent, and how could I live with that?" I squeaked quietly to Isaac. "I can be silent until they release Kent, I can do that much, negotiate that far I think, even if I scream, even if he screams, I can keep silent, Uncle Charlie taught me silence even when I want to scream."

"Uncle Charlie?" Isaac looked at me oddly then, his eyes filling with horror as he pondered at my words. "Ariadne no," he snapped as he pulled me to a halt and his presence filled his voice, "I will not allow this!"

I looked at the mad pair, Anatole and Aristotle, who watched us curiously. They made the master stir within me constantly, he loathed being so close to the web and yet so far from it. "Do something," I begged, "just this once." Both Malkavian and yet they were as chalk and cheese or pandas and unicorns, complete opposites. One fair and religious, one dark and logical yet both mad, both with a streak of cruelty, both eager for knowledge, both in a quandary over whether they wanted to lose the madness or further it. I thought of the ancient, angry voice trapped inside me. 'Please,' I begged mentally, 'I can't lose them all tonight.'

" **I owe you nothing but I am bored in this mortal husk of yours so for my own humour and a desire to see this Baron scream I will comply** ," the voice answered through me.

Anatole and Aristotle linked hands suddenly.

" **Vision of death, see her dead a thousand times over.** "

The power flowed through me and into Anatole and Aristotle, enhancing their own powers as they spread their terrible gift of mass hallucination onto the streets. Only the ghoul and I were immune though not by much. I caught a glimmer of the terrible vision, a faint outline of a beautiful raven haired woman in old fashioned Victorian clothes smiling sadly at Beckett before she burst into flames over and over again. I filled with grief as I felt Beckett's surge through me, grief, guilt, sorrow and rage, it all collided into me at once.

For Isaac there was another, the princess he kept losing was still holding his hand in his mind but now she was screaming and bleeding from her eyes and her mouth. I trembled to see myself in that form, wasn't one supposed to die instantly upon seeing their doppelgänger?

"Are you coming?" the ghoul snarled at me. He appeared sufficiently unnerved by the latest display of Malkavian power. "Sascha would like the the Gangrel but it's you she wants most of all."

I nodded agreeably. "Let's go."

The ghoul started to run, trusting that for Kent I would follow him. We darted down several narrow streets loitered with the unwanted of the Kine, hobos and trash ladies rendered numb with drugs, ill with the remnants of the Brotherhood or simply still from starvation, cold and neglect. A few struggled on admirably, taking solace in can fires and cheap booze. I was not surprised when the ghoul stopped at a sewer lid and lifted it up with ease. He gestured for me to go first, I supposed he wanted to close the lid to ensure no clues for following. Well it was okay, I didn't want them following. I dropped down into darkness and shit.

The ghoul led the way in darkness through a maze of underground sewage systems. Some of them had faint electric lights and paths for the workers whilst others were older and neglected. On many occasions I heard whispers and snarls echo up the tunnels but never did I spy anything. I thought of the cursed tunnels in Hollywood and wondered at Tzimisce beasts and Nosferatu. The golden king Gary ruled from the sewers in a palace of warrens filled with an odd mixture of technology and rot, Andrei had kept him there for a while, trapped like a rat. It was funny but the Nosferatu were only happy to be down with the shit when it was by choice, if they felt someone was holding them down there they were unhappy. Apparently dwelling in darkness and faeces had to be a choice.

I saw a torn flyer for the Brotherhood and shuddered as I felt Bishop Vick's cold, smooth hands running up my skin. It had not all been bad but it should have been, he was a monster but he had manipulated and used his presence to make it pleasurable. Just as Valyrion had manipulated for pain Vick had conjured bliss. I swallowed hard and clenched my fists again, understanding why Kent was still half-mad and suicidal. Jezebel had done the same to him, she had rendered him helpless and made him enjoy it. She had taken away all his control. It wasn't just the ugly deformities she had caused him, it was making him feel weak and helpless, that was much a bigger blow for Kent. Strauss had cured the ugliness and the blood disease but not the damaged psyche. Kent had always been cocky and confident, only once had that been taken from him, years ago by the Tzimisce and he had struggled to piece himself together after it, now here we were again, Kent was shattered and desperate to fix it with vengeance since Romero and I had denied him the sun. I couldn't have Sascha make it all the worse by delivering Kent more pain and making him feel helpless again.

We waded through ice cold, knee high water that was probably rife with disease though the rats swimming in it didn't seem to mind. We moved under rusted, half-fallen grates and pushed through old gates with their locks long rotted away. I don't know how long we moved for and I wondered if the visions of death enhanced by Malkav had faded away. The mad master had faded to silence again and I wondered at his helping. He said he wanted me to live now to take him to the desert, surely this was going against that? But then he did like chaos and surprises and wasn't I delivering that? Maybe he wanted my death again, maybe he was fickle. I didn't know, I didn't care, hard enough to keep guessing at my minds without wondering about his.

Finally, we made it to a large chamber that stank of death and was spoiled with entrails and body parts rotting in small piles. The light came from iron torches hanging on the walls and a few large oil cans that burned with smokey, amber flames. Bloody shackles dangled from the walls, one set with a pair of arms still in it though no body was attached and another set with poor Kent captured in them.

As far as torture dungeons went it was alright, not quite up to scratch for the Tzimisce, the torn flyers of red skulls in stars had me suspicious that this had been a certain Nosferatu's haunt first.

"Where are the others Mutt?"

There was that voice, smooth and neutral in all ways. The owner strode up to us, coiling out a sharp claw in a theatrical welcome to me.

"They wouldn't come," the ghoul answered with unease, "something happened and the Toreador tried to stop her." He nodded to me.

Sascha frowned before striking his arms in a cross and breaking them rapidly. I marvelled and filled with horror as the ghoul shrieked in pain and his face bubbled and boiled as bubbles of flesh rose up in his cheeks. "Since you did bring her I won't kill you," Sascha murmured, "but you may get on your knees and crawl away like the useless Mutt you are."

The ghoul bit back a groan of pain as he obediently dropped to his hands and knees and crawled away into the shadows.

I was surprised to find Sascha without allies, seeing only Kent in the room with him or her, I really couldn't tell. Sascha was an alien looking creature and yet somehow beautiful to look at, tall and slender with a face perfect and cruel. I looked to Kent, naked, bloodied and bruised in shackles, he was miserable, head bowed, eyes shut and a whimper escaping from his ruined, bloodstained lips.

"Let him go," I said, trying to sound firm rather than pleading, "you don't need him and I will tell you all you want."

"You will do that anyway," Sascha purred.

I tensed at the jarring sound of her voice as it came at me multiple times from multiple lips. I looked to what I thought were black tattoos on her body and shuddered as they moved when Sascha spoke again.

"I could torture you into it, rape the Toreador and make you watch, shift your flesh as you did and you would squeal then but that's crude. Andrei did that once to you, the flesh melding, and somehow you undid it, curious that. You will have to tell me all about that. It's repetitive and boring now and Valyrion raped you, fucked your mind and your flesh, yet he still didn't learn what he should have," He, she, hell I wasn't sure anymore, sighed out of one mouth this time and shook its head. Sascha turned from me and paced back to Kent, raising a right hand to run it down his exposed chest. "The Toreador is another matter. I feel Andrei's taint on him too, trussed up in chains but ignored, Andrei could have manipulated his flesh but he got bored and distracted and let the Gangrel lackeys hurt him instead." Sascha glanced over his shoulder at me and smiled. "We've had quite the chat these past few minutes, all about Abbey Ryan, the poor little pony lover and Sebastian, imagine an Anarch loving a Camarilla Prince." Sascha let out a mocking laugh at this.

"You don't need him," I repeated sternly.

"It's not need, it's want, I'm allowed to have wants now and again, I have you here because I need you and your knowledge and it's been a lot of effort of my part to get you," Sascha snapped, "but I'm annoyed you're alone, you've ruined a potentially beautiful surprise coming alone so I want something to make me happy and make up for that." He sank his claws into Kent and I winced to hear him yelp. "I'm taking the Toreador, I'm going to make a fine pet of him. Spoilt, cocky bastard, he called me ugly but he's going to call me beautiful soon, he's going to cry at my beauty and weep tears of blood anytime he's without my presence. I'll fix his warped love for the fallen prince, I'll give him a new love for me instead. I had a Toreador lover once," she added with a look of a lament, "I miss him still."

"Then you won't have the Aralu!" I snapped defiantly.

Sascha laughed. "Do you think you can keep the truth from me? Were you not Valyrion's obedient whimpering bitch not that long ago? Have you forgotten that? How you would do anything for him, anything to please, anything for attention, anything for another kick or beating just because it proved he noticed you?"

I shuddered and sank my nails deep into my palms so that they bled. I used the pain to steady myself to try and keep away from those horrible memories of Valyrion. He was master no more.

"No stories of the sand, Charlie was slashed down in the mind, no more control, no more truths spilling," I mumbled.

"Enough Myca, let's do this the easy way for a change, it's faster."

Another voice, a form in the shadows! My eyes widened with a new horror as I realised what I had failed to sense, a vampire manipulating the darkness to conceal themselves. I didn't know where. There was the sound of something screeching fast along the hard cement floor before it came to a halt against me, slamming against my ankles and sending me falling back into it. It was a chair. I heard heels clicking on the floor but could not bring myself to face this new horror.

"You ruin the fun," Sascha pouted.

"Your Toreador is your fun, play with him and I will talk with this one," the voice, a female, remarked coldly.

"No!" I protested.

A form came into my presence, a tall, beautiful woman, willowy in appearance with enviable olive skin and long, glossy, raven black hair. She oozed of authority with the severe beauty of a noble, a woman whose looks and poise came from breeding and did not require much effort to enhance. She was clad in a tight skinned, flowing dress of vibrant royal purple with belts of silver skulls and ankhs about her waist. She crossed her arms and smiled down at me. "Tell me all about the Aralu," she ordered in a calm, commanding voice.

She had a powerful gift of Domination and I was helpless to it. My mouth parted to spill all that I could as Kent started to scream.


	18. Chapter 17- Madness Returns

My beautiful captor had lost patience with me and given up on mere words. She couldn't believe I had told her everything and pride wouldn't let her believe her dominance had failed but here I was suffering anyway as she contradicted herself by convincing herself I knew more.

"You must have it somewhere in that mad mind of yours!" she snapped angrily. "Where are the Aralu?" She struck at me hard, punching me in the face twice and causing fresh blood to bloom from my nose as she shattered it. My vision flashed to red as my mind filled with pain and my breathing suddenly became a lot harder.

"Ah Kent," Sascha purred, through just one mouth thankfully, "smell that blood do you?"

I glanced over and through a dazed vision edged with red I spied Sascha pulling back from Kent's throat, smiling with a face stained crimson. Kent was bruising with many fresh, deep bites, one at his throat, two on his chest, one on his right leg and worse, I could spy glittering carmine droplets dripping from his lower regions.

"You've lost a lot of vitae," Sascha mused as she stroked his right cheek, "poor pet but it serves me well with power. Shall we have a rest? Shall I let you feed Kent? Can you smell her blood? Isn't it good, warm and fresh?"

I heard Kent give a snarl as he pulled on his bonds.

"Yes Kent, you're close now, hmm let it come to the surface."

"Maybe that will get the truth from you," the woman in the purple dress snapped at me.

"They're in the desert," I retorted tiredly, "I've told you twice, in Egypt with the mummies, they don't eat brains you know, they just want dead princesses resurrected."

"In Egypt you suspect but what proof and where in Egypt?"

"The voices haven't shared that yet," I answered with forced merriment. "For Kent's freedom the outlook might be less cloudy. Hmm give the mind another shake and maybe the triangle says outlook good instead of ask again later."

I heard the clink of cuffs and watched as Kent was finally set free. He crumbled to the floor with a groan and a snarl and I watched in dismay as Sascha kneeled beside him. Sascha whispered something to him as he stroked his hair and suddenly Kent's grey eyes were on me and I saw a frenzy beginning. He was not going free.

"No," I whispered.

"Yes," the woman retorted cruelly, "unless you tell me more about the Aralu!"

"Go and feed pet," Sascha urged. "Drain her of the filthy Kindred blood that pollutes her." Sascha smiled my way at this. "Then I can replace it with my own, you will want to tell me all about the Aralu then."

"You stay still and endure it," the woman ordered me in a voice heavy with dominance.

Kent came crawling across the floor rapidly, hissing and bearing his fangs as he did. I hoped and prayed it was a ruse. My hands dug into the edges of the chair as I turned rigid against it. I couldn't move, no bond but a voice held me and it was enough!

I screamed as Kent's fangs tore into my throat violently and he started to drain my blood. There was no gentleness, no attempt to put me under, nothing but sharp pain as two serrated fangs pierced deep through my skin and tore it asunder to spill blood. He sucked hard at the wound, bruising the flesh about it as he drank greedily at my blood.

"Enough!" Sascha cried out.

Kent ignored.

Sascha did not order a second time, she came forward and grabbed Kent by the scruff of his hair. With help from the olive skinned woman she dragged him kicking and howling back to his chains and restrained him once more. Sascha looked over at me angrily. "You tell us everything or I will start taking limbs from him!"

"You always were theatrical Vykos."

I couldn't believe it, the voice, master! Was he still master? I was sagging in the chair, head slumping forward again my chest as I struggled even more for breath as my lungs grew tight and heavy.

"Bb...Beckett?" The beautiful woman looked stunned.

I felt shock flood through me, pure, sudden, senses freezing shock. It was Beckett's and he took a moment to compose himself from it. "Lucita I am disappointed by the company you keep," he scorned in a droll voice.

I felt cold hands upon me suddenly, wrenching me up and away from the chair, back from the monsters to safety. "What did they do to you?" Isaac demanded. "To both of you!"

"Give her back or I will take things from this Toreador he can't replace!" Sascha threatened.

"Just because you're dickless," Anatole taunted.

So many voices, I couldn't keep up with the drama now. My neck burned and I struggled for conscious as I felt the darkness begin to suck me down.

"Anatole how are you here?" the woman gasped. "I thought you were dead!"

"I am," he answered happily.

"You know what I mean," she snapped. "I thought you had given yourself up to a true death."

"If she's with Sabbat who's Judas now?" Aristotle queried haughtily.

"Still you," Anatole retorted firmly, "she's been Sabbat for a while."

"Double standards," Aristotle complained, "just like Elizabeth, signed the death warrant but didn't want it dispatched. Scots took her throne anyway."

"Sascha we're all here now, try talking for a change," Beckett urged.

"Why are you here?" I pried as I looked over at him. I was slumped back against Isaac, weak and bleeding hard.

Beckett grinned at me. "Because you're right, it's not foolish and I must always strive to do what's wise."

"How did you find us?" I quipped.

"You're my ghoul, I can find you," he assured.

"Your ghoul?" the woman, Lucita, spat out with disgust. "But you hate ghouls and really Beckett you have better standards than this!"

"And you are better than crude torture methods with a Tzimisce," Beckett scorned her. "Centuries have passed us by and yet here we are in an underground dungeon with manacles, it's so terribly medieval."

I felt Lucita's gaze upon me before she looked at Beckett again. "I am sick of the game and the control, the blood bond is ancient, if these things in the desert awaken they will enslave, control and devour."

"She means to feed on them," Aristotle hissed.

"Or maybe I just want to destroy them!" she snapped.

"If you want to come you only have to ask," Anatole said happily, "I've missed our trips together."

"Even if I mean to destroy these ancient?" Lucita queried sharply.

"If it God's will," Anatole retorted, "but if not He may bid me to smote you with a flaming sword, we shall see. The end comes no matter what, we cannot stop it."

"Well I was not expecting this," she retorted awkwardly, "or any of you."

I was growing weaker by the minute as my blood continued to flow despite Isaac's hand pressed against the wound but I would not give into oblivion while Kent was still in danger. I saw the rage growing in Sascha at his ally's hesitation and I knew Kent would pay the price. I couldn't let it happen. I fought free from Isaac with ease as he did not expect it given my weakened state and I stumbled awkwardly across the floor. I tugged out a dagger, brought in my skirt for self-defence, and I had it up at the wound at my neck just as Isaac readied to come and snatch me back.

"Sascha I will silence all the voices if you touch him!" I shrieked. "You will never learn about the Aralu then! NEVER! NO ONE WILL!"

"I won't learn about them from you anyway," Sascha retorted sulkily, "at least this way I can have some satisfaction."

Isaac moved in a blur, bypassing me and heading straight for Sascha.

"Oh dear," Beckett said dryly.

Sascha evaded the blow by dissolving into a pool of blood that reformed into the Tzimisce behind Isaac.

"I suppose we must help," Beckett said wearily. He moved forward quickly without Isaac's speed, conjuring the brute strength of a Gangrel as he readied his claws.

I moved too despite my pain, running to Sascha with a burning rage. The Tzimisce was laughing, even when Isaac struck a blow he laughed.

I neared Kent and his eyes burned red as my blood taunted him. He started to scream as he fought against his bonds frantically.

Sascha dissolved into blood to avoid an attack from either side by Beckett and Isaac. The pair narrowly avoided a collision thanks to Isaac's speed.

"The blood rises in the west," the voices murmured, "where the dead lie." I followed their guidance in time to greet Sascha as he arose from a blood pool. I shoved the dagger hard into his right eye and smiled.

Sascha smiled back as he rewarded me by forcing his claws deep into my ribcage, tearing through bone and muscle.

"ARIADNE!"

Isaac tugged me back as Sascha ripped a hole through me. He missed my heart but it didn't matter, he took enough blood and guts with him for the damage to be fatal.

I continued to smile as I fell. I was saturated in blood now and my vision was dimming. I had lost too much but I had hurt the monster for Kent and if it meant Kent survived then it was okay.

I fell to the ground at last as my body turned numb and the pain faded. I was cold, it was dark and I couldn't hear anymore. I filled with frustration, I just wanted a few more seconds, I needed to know that Kent was safe. It took all my strength to try and focus my eyes again, all the energy I could muster but it didn't last long. All I got was a final image of Aristotle in the distance behind Isaac and Beckett looking down at me with a thoughtful curiosity.

The voice perked up at this and I realised numbly why he had helped me to come here and risk my mortality. He only wanted to keep me alive to get to the desert if death was the only other alternative but he had gazed ahead and seen another path. He had made another move on the chessboard of Jyhad and it was going to succeed. I could hear him urging the whispers in Aristotle's head to start murmuring the same idea. I wanted to laugh bitterly at how we had been played for puppets, how I was moved through the stages of life and death at Malkav's will and not my own. I could do nothing however as it was far too late.

* * *

" _I want her."_

 _I looked to the deep voiced speaker unseen. He stood with another, both more than they appeared, they hummed with power. They had their backs to me, two tall, muscular males in colourful robes and glistening with metallic adornments, they hugged at a fat marble pillar, spying around it like shy schoolboys. What held their devotion was a woman whose form I was starting to see frequently, a beautiful dancer with olive skin and jet black hair, silver footed and shiny eyed with a pearly smile. I had never seen anyone with her beauty or grace. She moved lithely to soft music, swaying her hips seductively whilst playing ignorance to her watchers. I knew that she seen them, that she was aware of how they observed, ensnared as she flung her dark locks about to catch under the light of the pale moon and stretched her long arms up to greet its rays._

" _I cannot do it," the speaker murmured woefully, "the risk of her hate is too much."_

" _Then let me do it lord," the second male spoke up eagerly. "Let me see if I can make a Childe and let me make a gift of her to you."_

 _There was the sound of clapping as another joined the fray. A young male wearing the mask of a grinning wolf skipped up to her before dancing in wild abandon. He had none of her grace or charm but yet there was an appeal with him too. The woman seemed happy for his presence, laughing in mirth at his antics before she grasped both his hands and swung in a circle with him._

" _And what of him lord?" the second male quipped warily. "I'm told he scared the servants this morning, they found his chamber full of frogs and him addressing them like people!"_

" _She would be unhappy without him," the first male murmured._

 _The wolf masked man broke from the woman and pushed his mask up into his jet black locks. He halted and turned his head up to the moon curiously. "Do you hear the moon sister?" he queried seriously. "Whispering ancient secrets to us."_

" _What you give to him you give to her," the first male instructed quietly, "for she loves him and her love is a deep passion."_

" _Love can be a curse," the second male retorted grimly._

"Ariadne it's alright, I'm here to keep the voices quiet this time."

"Ugh you Toreadors are always so woefully dramatic. Honestly, what is it about this...you know I don't even know what to call her, curious she's survived this many transformations but I digress, what is it that makes you all lose your senses so openly for her? If it's not Beckett in here reading to her about dinosaurs it's Kent pleading to her or you telling tales about how things will be with you and her."

"You know I can kick you off this train to burn in the desert."

Voices, familiar voices somewhere near and yet so far. I felt like I was trapped, drowning in a dark pool, pressed up against an unseen glass pane trying to break through. Yes, that was it wasn't it? I'd always been here in the mind but it was crowded and hard to win control. For a time there'd been fewer, when we...no when I'd fallen from the web. Then, without warning, we...no I...had been ensnared in the web again and the spider had at long last been set free to scuttle back to the centre. Many flies had come then, many voices from the hive wanting to have a go at control. They had told Sarah that Ariadne was just a voice to be banished, that she wasn't real, that Sarah should let someone else take charge.

"Ariadne I know you're afraid after everything you have suffered and that you must be confused. I know you're hurting too and you've had too many voices telling you what to do now, too many masters but please, remember my voice is the one than silences the others. Remember that I have never wanted to control you but that I want you to only be you, no matter the name you choose. Remember that I love you."

"Love, God if I have to listen to another night of this you can throw me to the desert," someone retorted rudely.

I heard the noise of metal scraping and creaking and then there was the roar of wind and the feel of the coolness of a foreign night air upon my skin. It caressed me gently bringing in the scent of ancient sands and forgotten tombs.

"I spoke in haste! Come now Isaac you didn't bring me this far just to do this and it is very crude for a Toreador!"

There was a heavy sigh before the metal creaked again and the wind fell silent. He always liked to sigh for theatrics even though he had no need to do it. Love, he had said those precious three words but was it more than foolish sentiment this time or just another dramatic declaration of emotion to be broken or retracted as he had done before?

"Forever Ariadne," he murmured, "I will love you forever. I will love you even if you are struck mortal again or ghoul or the Tzimisce mutilate you. I will love you no matter what you look like or what name you choose. I will love you if you lie with my ghoul or others. I will love you if you help the Camarilla or even the Sabbat. From now until Gehenna I swear it, just come back to me again, break through the madness and take control."

"How did you ever find the time to be a Baron? Surely your talents are better suited to writing sub par sonnets," someone sneered. They regretted it immediately and shouted. "No, I was just joking! For God's sake don't open that door again! You are so easily offended, one would think a leader would have a thicker skin."

"Like you LaCroix? Didn't you stake three Kindred and let them thirst for two days simply for calling you a weak figurehead? Or rather, didn't you have one of your minions do it for you because you always have to keep your dainty hands clean?"

I smiled at this, it was rare for Isaac to get in verbal spats but when he did he always knew the most amusing insults to offer.

"Pah! One shouldn't believe all the rumours, it was one Kindred, he wasn't staked, he called me a clueless clown if you must know and he was a Nosferatu anyway, probably Gary put him up to it. I heard you are just a figurehead in Hollywood, that another Toreador secretly pulls your strings, is that to be believed or can we accept that sometimes rumours are just that?"

"Isaac is no puppet," I piped up, trying to sound fierce and failing as my voice was hoarse, "he is the Baron. The child was sent on a goose chase but alas no goose, I tried to find the golden goose too but Ash keeps it hidden with his snakes, selfish Toreador won't share the golden feathers for my hat," I pouted.

"Ariadne!" My Toreador was upon me quickly, pulling me upright to my feet and greeting me with a wide smile and amber eyes full of happiness and warmth. I smiled back and welcomed his deep kiss. His mouth was cold and his tongue had the lingering taste of coppery blood to it but it only filled me with pleasure. I had a hungering for the blood that had been gone for a time but never forgotten, now it came in a warm murmur that threatened to turn into a burning demand.

Isaac pushed me back and looked to me curiously. "It is you, isn't it?"

"Hmm as much me as I can be I suppose." I pressed my tongue up and probed the two fangs there. "I think the fangs are longer this time," I mused, "all the better to bite with, oh but how will I fool the children in red? Granny what long fangs you have, nope shan't do." I shook my head mournfully.

Isaac smiled at me and pressed the tip of his nose against mine lightly. "I was always wary of you being a Malkavian again, I selfishly wanted you Kindred again of course but to be Kine again was a gift and yet now, at long last I can say I am glad for it. Not that I will ever thank Aristotle," he added angrily with a frown, "he did it without asking and he certainly didn't do it for you. He even admitted to it, the cretin said we had to bring him along after all that, that you would need him." Isaac sighed again as he pulled back from me. "He wasn't wrong, it took you three nights to change and then for another three nights you haven't known yourself, only Aristotle was able to get you to feed."

I was confused and cocked my head from side to side as I tried to recall this. I tensed feeling Sascha's claws within me and looked down. I was wearing a stylish black, silk shirt which gave me no indication of possible wounds below. "What about Kent?" I queried worriedly. I could see him screaming and straining against his chains as his eyes burned red and the thirst dominated him.

"He is with us," Isaac assured.

I looked up to the Baron curiously. "What does that mean?"

Our companion, briefly forgotten in our romantic uniting, let out a snort of mockery and sneered, "she's still got her clan's knack for observation. Although, I always felt it was more prominent in her than most."

I turned to face him. "Fallen prince," I murmured. He still managed to give off an air of condescending arrogance despite his condition, bond in heavy iron chains that kept his hands and feet restrained together though he was unbound to anything else. He was wearing a charcoal suit with a formerly white shirt now speckled in dirt and blood and no tie. His upper lip was pulled higher than it should be exposing his fangs and his eyes' lids were drawn back leaving his eyeballs more exposed than they should be. He needed to feed. I wondered at his attire and presence briefly before I returned my attention to Isaac. "Where is Kent?"

Isaac gave me a hopeful smile before he glanced to a door on the right. "We will go to him, perhaps seeing you as you are might finally make him happy." He gripped my right hand tightly and began to guide me to the door, pausing to glower back at Sebastian disapprovingly. "You may hope Kent is in better form," he said warningly, "it is only for him that you still get to see these nights."

"Yes, yes," Sebastian retorted dismissively. "Just get me some vitae already then make your threats."

Isaac opened the door and pulled me through. We were on a train, one without windows, modern with wide compartments lit with bright, white bulbs in false candles in the walls. It hummed quietly, moving rapidly across iron tracks carrying us to destiny across the land of the Pharaohs.

We were in a compartment occupied with chairs screwed to the floor and facing a single television, books and weapons, one weary looking Japanese girl feasting on noodles and watching cartoons until we arrived, and a sombre Toreador polishing a set of guns obsessively.

"Kent," Isaac called down to him gently as we stopped before him.

"They look shiny," I approved, "you should polish my button collection next, they must be very dirty dwelling in Ash's boots."

He froze up, halting in his actions as if Medusa had ensnared him. Suddenly he was on his feet and staring at me, moving too quick for me to catch it. He studied me warily, suspicious and anxious.

"Can we build sandcastles soon?" I queried hopefully. "Plenty of sand here."

He grabbed me without warning, pulling me into a fierce hug and burrowing his head against my hair as his arms squeezed me tight. "Damn I love you batshit crazy," he murmured, "never fucking leave again."

* * *

 _Well it had to happen, right?_

 _Also, I'm considering one day writing an origins fic about the Third Generation, would it interest anyone?_


	19. Chapter 18- Cairo

"I spy with my eye something beginning with S," I said, confident I had something they wouldn't guess this time.

"Malk if you say sand again I swear to God I'll throw you in front of a bus," Kent snapped.

"At least she's not trying to get us to count the stars," Romero pointed out dryly.

I followed the grave guard's gaze to Anatole who was walking with his head turned upwards pointing at each star as he counted them. He had gotten to two hundred and twenty-two, Kent had threatened to stake him at a hundred and behead him at two hundred.

"Oh, oh," I piped up eagerly as I hastened towards him, "you should name them! Can we name them? That one should be Shiny," I said as I pointed at a large, white one, "that one is Silver," I pointed at a smaller, glittering one, "that one is Sparky," I pointed at one flickering in and out of existence, "and that one should be Steve." I pointed at a pale almost gold one.

"Steve," Kent repeated sardonically, "how do you go from Shiny, Silver and Sparky to Steve?"

"Steve the Star," Romero commented happily, "it has a ring to it, surely you like that whole alliteration thing?"

I had been wary of the grave guard's reaction to my returned vampiric state, fearful that the bond we had forged as mortals would be broken but I had been wrong. Romero had greeted me with a smile, a hug and a soft kiss on the brow before murmuring that he loved me mortal, ghoul or vampire and was happiest with whatever made me happiest.

"Who keeps teaching you big words?" Ash queried sombrely as he raised his dark eyebrows and gave Kent an almost accusing stare. The moody Toreador walked apart from our seemingly ever growing group with a scowl on his face. He and V.V had arrived amongst us two days into my change. I had learned that V.V had been summoned by Isaac in an attempt to appease Strauss. Apparently the fanged magician had been less than content with our disruptions of late and someone, most probably Anatole, had given him the impression that we were going to quit LA for Egypt to seek out the Aralu without him. After some empty Camarilla threats and a few promises to expose Sebastian and me and see us both executed, Strauss had finally calmed down when V.V had arrived. Ash had come in tow with V.V, just like that sneaky shit that comes when you think you've gone for a wee, he was an unwanted bonus. Apparently Ginger had been left in charge of Hollywood and was showing why swans were to be feared.

Ginger was not the only one absent, Heather had not coped well with Kent's violent feedings and suicidal tendencies, he had released her from her bond to her and left her in down town L.A under Nines' protection. Rob and Damsel had stayed too, Rob had hit the berserk phase when learning what Aristotle had done to me. Isaac assured he would send word back to L.A as soon as possible to assure Rob that I was myself again but there was a hint from Beckett that my brother had finally suffered the mark of the Gangrel and might not be able to console himself with word that I was a mad Malkavian again.

Kent turned his head upwards to the sky and remarked, "I'm pretty sure Sparky is a plane."

We were walking along the streets of Cairo heading for down town to sanctuary. It was just as well it was one in the morning and the streets were mainly deserted as it was hard to tell who in our group was drawing the most attention.

"How did I fall so hard?" Sebastian lamented. He walked unbound as to have him in chains would draw too much attention but he was guarded on either side by Strauss and Isaac, and Kent's gaze rarely left him though he took care to walk behind the blonde.

"Really Sebastian?" Strauss queried sardonically. "You were a weak ruler."

"You let a golem run wild in Hollywood," Sebastian retorted heatedly. Seeing Strauss' miffed look he sneered, "oh yes Strauss even I heard about that one."

"Camarilla fops," Isaac scorned them, "that's the issue with both of you, you're obsessed with control."

"Yes Isaac because you aren't in a position of control as a Baron, are you?" Sebastian commented sardonically with an icy stare.

"You know low key means less conversation about matters of Kindred," Beckett remarked calmly. It was Beckett who led the way, taking us to parley with the native prince before we sought out a resting place. No surprise that the scholar had friends in Egypt. It was odd but whilst I was free from a ghoul's bond I still felt a tie to the Gangrel Noddist, one which only grew when I discovered he had brought Percy along the trip for me.

"Low key," Kent sneered, "coming from the head of Clan Crazy." He gestured with a finger to Anatole who was shouting obscenities at a poster for a vet that depicted a cat. "Your friend has attempted to convert a traffic cone, carved Anatole Was Here into an ancient statue of Horus, thus ruining its perfect appearance that survived for thousands of years, and egged a shop window because he thought the faceless mannequin was looking at him funny and this is all in the space of thirty minutes! And your other friend," he turned a glower on Aristotle, "well he's been a fuck up since he joined us, untrustworthy, a traitor and a liar according to you and the dead again Christian over there but you didn't protest much when he sullied Ariadne!"

"Clan Crazy," I said happily, "hmm I like it but then if Beckett is the head is he still master of this one?" I looked to the Gangrel with puzzlement. I found it easier to look to Beckett than Aristotle. With Aristotle there was a subtle hum, an unseen thread connecting he and I for eternity or until one of us met with an untimely end or became mortal, which was possible as I had proved. Oh the possibilities. Aristotle was the sire and I the childe, my bond with poor deceased Alex was undone forever, severed by the master of madness, and now a new one had been forged in its place by the scholar of changing loyalties.

"Better myself than the alternative Malkavian," Aristotle remarked haughtily. He walked with perfect poise, hands clasped behind his back, head high, gaze directly ahead, beard polished, ponytail tight and without loose strands, a perfect gentleman. "Imagine he had gotten to her first, then she would be babbling about Gehenna and God."

"Oh yes," Kent sneered, "such a choice between Tweedle Dumbass and Tweedle Demented."

"The childe is not a carbon copy of the sire," Beckett argued, "as you know Aristotle. At any rate, it had to be someone Kent and better she was restored to a clan she knew."

"You're just saying that because you collect crazies," Kent grumbled.

"If that's so I'm a rare edition," I bragged.

"We're here," Beckett remarked quietly. He didn't need to, the vampire guards that had moved to surround us had made that much obvious.

"It was sand grains," I announced happily, "no one guessed so I get a point."

* * *

We were somewhere between night and dawn, between life and death or was it immortality and dust? Sandwiched somewhere in the modern and ancient, we were the ham between a slice of doom and gloom. Still, one could perish with a worse view.

"What's the rent on this place?" I queried inquisitively.

"Malk I love you and I missed you but for the love of God such the fuck up," Kent muttered quietly to me.

We were in a tight cluster, forced to stand in an odd unity by a ring of guards both ghoul and vampire as we faced an ancient being on a throne. Despite where we were our current location wasn't entirely Egyptian but rather an odd mixture of Egyptian and Middle East and probably a few other things I wasn't cultured enough to recognise.

We had been approached in the city by a large group of armed ghouls that consisted of a few police men and private guards led by a sprightly red-headed Toreador who dressed like a modern day explorer straight of a Hollywood flick in that her breasts were huge, her clothes too expensive and her hair too glossy, all suggesting that she hadn't actually done any real exploring. She had introduced herself as Christabelle, instantly endearing herself to Anatole for her name alone, and compelled us with a cheerful smile to submit to a peaceful escort to the prince of Cairo. Beckett had suggested we comply and so, despite V.V's grumblings that 'Chesty Bells' was probably leading us into a trap, we had followed like explorers chasing the gold to the cursed tomb.

Christabelle and her group had escorted up to the hills on the outskirts of Cairo where a citadel stood protected by high stone walls, though not so high that the view of Cairo and the pyramids was obscured for the top floor of the citadel. I had pointed out this flaw as we were led through a heavy set of modern steel gates to the grounds of the citadel but it had gone unnoticed.

"Such a mixture of Kindred you bring to my presence Christabelle," the deep voice of the vampire on the throne called out. "A group large enough to be considered something more than tourists."

"And this is what happens with a Caitiff takes the throne," Sebastian scoffed loudly.

The blonde stood at the front of our group between Strauss and Isaac appearing as our speaker instead of our prisoner. Isaac, normally so conscious of appearances, seemed to realise the error of this too late.

"Perhaps you should have told him to shut the fuck up too," Anatole suggested to Kent with a snicker.

Kent rolled his eyes and shrugged. "What's the point, none of you are fucking whispering and I don't think this guy is hard of hearing."

"Guy?" the man on the throne repeated with an incredulous look.

He had a swarthy appearance that not even death could lighten, he had died somewhere in his late twenties perhaps with enough time to grow a bushy charcoal beard with hair down to his shoulders to match. Even on his throne he was tall, cutting a muscular imposing figure dressed in a military styled blue uniform with a gold sash and gold buttons.

"Right, right," Christabelle piped up chirpily as she hastened forward. Her brown, high heeled boots made a loud clatter with her quick steps as they smacked off the marble floor and echoed through the large chamber. She stopped before us all and faced us as she gestured behind her with one hand to the man on the throne. "This is the Mukhtar Bey, Prince of Cairo," she announced loudly and dramatically. She turned with a blur to face the prince and bowed whilst crying out, "all must show their respects to his highness!"

The prince gestured for her to rise with his right hand and she obeyed.

"Well Sebastian," Strauss remarked frostily, "you can't complain too much, at least he's aligned with the Camarilla."

"He's clanless," Sebastian snarled back stubbornly.

"Do you know Ardeth Bey?" I pondered curiously. "Ooh are you some reborn mummy priest?" I gazed up at the prince in confusion. "Hey could you settle a bet we have going on?" I gestured to Romero. "He says mummies don't want brains but I saw one eat organs!"

Romero sighed. "Not that this is the time but you're confusing two Mummy movies and they're not real."

"I feel that considering our circumstances you could all strive for a little more decorum," Beckett suggested in a testy voice that I knew hinted at a growing anger in him.

"Why Beckett that sounds almost Toreador of you," Kent taunted him.

"I just enjoy my existence and have no desire to lose it because none of you can show some courtesy to a prince in his own land," Beckett retorted calmly. His crimson gaze was upon our prince host but he showed no unease, in fact he was smiling.

"Caitiffs shouldn't be princes," Sebastian complained.

"Well he's more of a prince than you are right now," Strauss scolded him.

Christabelle blinked at us in confusion and then turned back to face her prince, clearly unsure what she was meant to do now.

"Well if I have to be executed because Sebastian keeps insulting him I want to know if mummies eat brains or not before I die," I pouted.

"You've died so often it won't even matter," Anatole complained. He looked bored and kept glancing at the architecture with displeasure. I didn't think he liked the animal headed deities that decorated the walls much.

"Perhaps one of you would like to represent your group and explain your presence?" the prince suggested with a cool stare.

Strauss, Sebastian and Isaac exchanged heated looks as they all determined to be that one.

"Since we are already acquainted perhaps you would trust my word Mukhtar?" Beckett quipped calmly.

"You might have familiarity but you lack age and experience," Aristotle scorned.

"At least he's not a thief of ancient treasures like you," Anatole snapped.

"Yep that's what he wants to hear," Kent commented sarcastically, "that we've brought a vampire of European appearance who's a thief of ancient treasures to Egypt because that always goes well doesn't it? Not like the Europeans have a reputation for nicking valuable stuff from Egypt is it?"

V.V tutted loudly before stepping forward, pushing herself between Strauss and Sebastian, knowing that Strauss would give way to her. She moved elegantly, swinging her hips with ease, each stride slow and deliberate and without a loud thunk despite her high heels. I couldn't see her face but I could imagine the soft, beguiling, grey stare she was turning up to our host, it was one she used often on men.

I glanced over at Yukie, the only other female in our group, to see if she was as envious of V.V's grace but she was occupied with gawking at a statue of some cat headed deity. Frankly, given all we had gone through, Yukie was remarkably calm, interested even but I suppose when you're raised by a hunter of fish demons after your parents have been murdered it's either go mad or go along with it. Venturing to Egypt to seek out ancient vampires lost in the sand was probably akin to a normal weekend for vampire hunter Yukie. Hell she was from Japan, in training to deal with aquatic monsters she'd probably encountered Godzilla and Manda, much more serious foes than Mukhtar and his mummies.

I turned my attention back to V.V as she rose slowly from an elegant bow all while keeping her face upright and facing the prince, her chest out and her bum perked in Strauss' face. It was amusing to see the wizard king suddenly unfocused as he tried and failed to stopped staring at the admirable derrière before him. Isaac by comparison had adapted a cool exterior though I knew he had to be boiling with rage seeing one of his Anarch followers bowing before a prince.

"Your highness," V.V addressed him a smooth voice, "you must forgive me, it's been a long time since I've been in the presence of a prince, it's put me a state of awe but that doesn't mean I should forfeit manners."

Sebastian scoffed and fumed so loudly at this I thought he'd start choking.

V.V let out a tittering giggle that sent a tingle up my spine and had me wondering what it was doing to the heterosexual men around us. I glimpsed at a few of the guards and saw them openly gawking at the redhead, mouths agape and eyes wide.

"You must know that it's most girls' fantasy to find themselves in a royal court at the mercy of a handsome prince."

Mukhtar clenched the white marble arms of his throne tightly with both hands as he leaned forward and raised his bushy black eyebrows curiously. "Mercy?" he echoed quietly as he looked alarmed.

V.V raised a hand to her lips to subdue another giggle. "Hmm perhaps just my fantasy," she retorted coyly.

I heard a few gasps and exclaimed curses from our guards.

"Does she make much money prostituting herself for you Isaac?" Sebastian sneered.

His answer was Strauss sweeping his feet out from under him and sending him ungracefully to the floor. I had always imagined Strauss above physical combat and was a little disappointed to see he didn't fight with a pointy hat and a wand.

Sebastian hit the floor loudly in a flurry of curses in his colourful French.

"What is your name?" Mukhtar queried as he ignored the childish display between Sebastian and Strauss.

"I'm Velvet Velour," V.V introduced in a husky voice, "call me Velvet."

"Sounds like what I wore in the eighties," Christabelle remarked mockingly.

Hmm did the redheads clash? Must be the fiery personalities and all that.

"And why have you and your companions come here Velvet?" Mukhtar asked gently.

"To explore," she confessed, "but that is something I should let my companion Beckett tell you about, the dead histories of a lost world do not excite me, I prefer to enjoy the present. I come to see the beauty of this land."

Mukhtar nodded. "And I should be glad to show you the beauty although I wonder if it could impress a Toreador lovely as you," he murmured.

Sebastian cursed again in French from the floor where he sat inelegantly.

"Beckett, a familiar face," Mukhtar said happily, "will you explain your presence then?"

Beckett stepped forward, moving around Isaac to stand before V.V though he made sure not to eclipse her loveliness from the prince's sight. "You know I'm a Noddist, I study lore associated with Caine," he explained. "Egypt is an ancient land and often I find myself driven to explore its secrets in the hopes of finding a sign of our forefathers. Once again, my studies have led me to believe there is perhaps evidence of some antediluvians to be found in Egypt not far from Cairo. I ask for permission to carry out my studies unhindered and I promise anything I find that does not prove of value to discovering more about the nature of of Kindred shall go to the Museum of Cairo."

"Now, now," Aristotle interrupted as he hurried forward, "do not be so hasty. Human history is as important as Kindred, we started that way after all! And perhaps the Kine's history will tie in with the Kindred and why should Cairo have it all? Egypt is more than Cairo. All the impatience of youth, offering up what you have not yet found," he scolded. "Why can't you be wiser? A wise old owl lived in an oak, the more he saw the less he spoke," he rhymed. "Hmm no, was it the owl? Ah but the owl was at sea," he rambled, "took some honey and plenty of money, good sense that, money is important for negotiating, often wealth buys peace but you didn't bring much of that did you? Imagine a Gangrel relying on charm," he sneered.

I frowned at my sire and complained, "you are a meanie sometimes and I don't like you."

"Are you all here to explore for some lost treasures?" the prince pried with a doubting gaze. "And are the treasures so trivial? Usually you come alone Beckett, why do you need so many people?"

"The Caitiff prince fulfils a prophecy," I murmured, "to stave off danger many of the clanless must come, sacrifice the many to save the few." I skipped forward to the others, shoving my way between Strauss and Sebastian before kneeling down to help the ever fallen prince. "You tumble too many times Sebastian," I teased with a smile, "perhaps someone should help you up once in a while."

He made a half-hearted effort to shrug me off before allowing me to tug him to his feet again.

I held his left arm loosely in my hands as I fixed my gaze on our host once more. "Sebastian here has fallen from Los Angeles, cast down like the angels. There are uprisings everywhere, a ripple of unease across the bloodline of the Kindred. Maybe if we look to our history we can save our future."

Mukhtar's brown stare filled with unease briefly before he murmured darkly, "Malkavian. I never know if it's some distorted truth with your kind or madness."

"Do you feel the wind of change?" I queried.

Christabelle let out a giggle surprisingly us all. "Sorry," she said as she caught her master's unimpressed glower, "but that's what that idiot was singing earlier."

"Pardon?" Beckett quipped in puzzlement.

"It's a song," Ash scorned, demonstrating that he hadn't turned mute for the evening, "an old one."

"Define old," Beckett said carefully in a show of irritation. I didn't need our blood bond to know that Aristotle had pushed him to the edge.

"I meant to sound mystical not musical," I lamented. "Anyway, if you feel the aura of doom and gloom then you know I'm not lying, it's all there in the Malkavian manual isn't it? If we all feel it, it's a message on the web, if only one feels it then maybe it's just a voice or a playful imp." I shrugged and started swinging Sebastian's arm back and forth. "One prince down, how many more to go? Clanless cat children on the sands of L.A, now the sands of Egypt too. We have few weapons and come as a mixture of Anarch and Camarilla, what harm can we bring by exploring the desert?"

"We barely get on amongst ourselves as we have demonstrated," Strauss remarked, "our alliance is for the purpose of study only. Surely this should assure you that we cannot possibly be organised or united enough to strike against you?"

"Hmm, that is an odd way of putting it," Mukhtar remarked as he looked at us all in turn. I hoped his judgement wouldn't be to slice us in half, I was in no mood for magician tricks. "You will stay for the day," he decided, "the morning is early, dawn remains a few hours away, time enough to discuss things in a more pleasant format. We shall feed together and then you shall all take quarters here for the day, if I am satisfied that your intentions are scholarly and not war based then you shall have my permission to go about your business."

"Our thanks for this generous offer of hospitality," V.V spoke up quickly before anyone else could.

"Would you let go of my arm!" Sebastian snapped at me crossly as he tried to jerk his limb free. "What the hell did I do to deserve you?"

"Really?" Isaac remarked sardonically in an icy voice. "Do you not recall dominating her into suicidal missions to Sabbat dens? Or falsely imprisoning her and depriving her of vitae and company? My wonder is why she and Kent compel me to allow you to keep your head on your shoulders!"

V.V forced a laugh at this. "Isaac how you jest when you're angry." She turned her attention back on the prince. "Perhaps a lady could find somewhere to freshen up, maybe I could even borrow some suitable clothing for dinner? It just wouldn't do to appear so dishevelled at a royal banquet." She gestured down to the tight, red silk shirt that was unbuttoned low and the equally tight, black shorts she had donned for our travels, along with black stilettos.

"Who amongst us is the lady?" Sebastian sneered.

"Well you screamed like one when Isaac opened the train while it was still moving," Ash remarked sullenly. Funny, he had so much hate for Isaac but for V.V he was always the caring brother.

"Christabelle," Mukhtar spoke up in a deep voice, "please escort our guests to quarters where they may prepare for dinner, see that they are provided with clothing as suits them and adequate coffins for sleeping in."

"No sarcophagi?" I quipped with a frown.

"What about us wonderful ghouls?" Romero queried. "Hate to be a pest about it but I'm not up for the blood feast or the coffins." He had used the word 'ghouls' deliberately and moved to stand beside Yukie. I supposed it wouldn't do for our host to learn she was actually a monster hunter with no blood ties to any of us.

"Christabelle will find quarters for you as well and see you are sent food befitting mortals," Mukhtar replied. He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and Christabelle stepped forward to resume the role of guide.

"Well folks," she addressed us merrily, "this way then."

* * *

 _I'm not so sure if Mukhtar Bey is actually a Camarilla, he's listed as a prince but his allegiance is Independent, so I guess if he's not he's just too polite to correct Strauss._

 _I know it's been a while, I was off getting married and honeymooning, part of which was in L.A no less! I got to see the Santa Monica pier and Museum of Natural History in person, it was great._

 _Apologies to fans of Heather, Rob and Damsel but I wanted V.V and Ash back in this and I just couldn't juggle that many characters in one go. Plus, the way I write Heather I didn't think she would really cope with all of Kent's mental woes as of late despite the blood bond, I think she'd be getting depressed with him so he decided to do the right thing and free her from the bond._


	20. Chapter 19- Bargaining Prisoner

Having no desire to play politics or pretend I had pleaded to be left with Romero and Yukie. Isaac had been stubborn about the matter but had given in when Romero had agreed to give me blood, sworn to keep an eye on me and Kent had offered to stay. After much debate and cursing in French, Sebastian had been compelled to stay too. Beckett had scorned that if any more of us remained in the ghouls' quarters it would appear insulting and so the rest of them had headed off for an early morning blood feast.

After Romero and Yukie had eaten and Romero had recovered from his blood donation to me we spent ten minutes conversing before I decided it was time to explore.

"No," Kent said flatly as he moved to block the door.

"Why not?" I demanded as I rested my hands on my hips and frowned at him. "He's bound to be hiding his mummy army somewhere."

"And why is that something we'd want to find?" He held up his right hand in protest. "Nope," he said as he waved his hand, "don't answer that, I don't want to hear your crazy justification for finding a mummy army."

"Well what if he's pharaoh's gold?"

"Which pharaoh?" Kent snapped.

"The rich one!" I retorted in exasperation. "Honestly Kent, silly question." I turned from him and started exploring the large quarters Romero and Yukie had been granted. It was spacious and brightly lit with glittering chandeliers. There were two singular beds with gossamer curtains to draw about them for privacy or to help with the pillow fort, an ornate wardrobe of brass and ebony with matching bedside cabinets, a large vanity table, a seating area composed of a low coffee table formed of a gilded camel with a glass surface on its back with soft, silk cushions to sit upon and a dining area with four chairs and a table formed of a standing gilded elephant with a glass top.

I skipped along the walls, which were decorated with carvings of Egyptian gods and royalty, pressing my fingers against them eagerly. There had to be a trick switch somewhere.

"Now is the perfect chance, while he's occupied," I suggested.

"Are you trying to start a war?" Kent retorted with a look of irritation. "He offers us hospitality so you decide to snoop?"  
"Investigate," I corrected, "wouldn't want it all to be a trap and we get staked in our coffins, would you?"

"She has a point," Sebastian commented dryly. "What self-respecting prince would let so many strangers into their personal abode? Of course," he sneered, "he's not self-respecting, ready to consort with that whore, how foolish and disgusting."

"And you were doing so well there," Kent lamented sardonically with a shake of his head. "You don't make it easy keeping everyone from staking you."

"Well why do you try?" Sebastian snapped with a hostile look.

Kent looked at him with a serious stare before his silver gaze darted towards Romero. Suddenly the large room felt painfully small. I scrambled for an exit, pawing at every column and fake candle holder on the walls before one swung down to my delight and a large part of the wall began to ease back to reveal a stone staircase leading down.

"For fuck sake," I heard Kent call as I ran down it.

Kent's hand was upon me before I had descended three steps, curse that Toreador speed! "Come on Kent," I complained as he tugged me back, "we can't ignore this, this is fate!"

"No," he argued, "this is a very old building and it's not our building and if you get into any more trouble Isaac will get very angry with Romero."

"Hey!" the grave guardian protested. "Why me and not you?"

"Because," Kent said calmly, "I will blame you to save my own skin."

"Thanks," Romero grunted back.

I smiled at the pair. "Well we don't have to explore," I offered, "we could stay up here and talk all about the love triangle of Romero, Kent and Sebastian. Yukie, what do you think? Shall we play Cupid, get Kent to flip a coin, heads the fallen prince, tails the zombie shooter and on its side, a ménage à trois?"

"Nani?" Yukie blinked at me in confusion.

Kent gave me an angry shake even as his eyes sparkled with embarrassment. "Shut up Malk! You're a vampire now, if I throw you into a wall it won't kill you it'll just hurt a lot."

"Throw me down the stairs," I suggested, "and then we will both be happy."

"No!"

"Well then we're talking about your tragic romance," I insisted. "One dark and broody, one blonde and power hungry, I guess the real question is who did the dirty dance better Kent?"

"Whatever is down there couldn't possibly be this bad," Sebastian remarked frostily.

"I kinda have to agree," Romero said. His neck had turned crimson. "Maybe we could have a peek just to get missy to be quiet."

I nodded agreeably. "I'll be as silent as a lotto winner with an impending divorce," I vowed.

"Fine, fine, fine," Kent grumbled as he started to shove me back towards the stairs, "a quick look." He paused and glanced over his shoulder at the others. "But we're all going."

Sebastian sighed. "Can't I be left out of it?"

"It was your suggestion," Kent reminded him, "and if you went wandering alone Strauss and Isaac would lose their shit with all of us and whilst I don't care what that Camarilla dickhead thinks I care what Isaac thinks."

"And you don't want Sebastian losing another golden crown," I said happily.

"Enough," Kent grumbled. "All or none down this staircase."

"All, I'm bored," Romero answered.

Kent and I led the way down to darkness and surprises. "I feel like the man who discovered peanut butter," I said excitedly.

"Okay firstly," Kent scorned, "we're in Egypt descending down to mysteries, there are literally hundreds of instances you could've referenced to compare to this, like Howard Carter finding the tomb of Tutankhamun, and secondly, peanut butter was invented not discovered."

"So what do we look for again?" Yukie piped up.

"Dust and bones most likely," Sebastian sneered.

We all stopped just as we reached the bottom and were greeted by a distant echo of voices. We had reached a one way tunnel that had a very faint glow of torchlight in the distance.

"Here he is," a happy voice called faintly down the corridor. Faint, at first I thought it might be one of my many until it continued and I recognised the perky peals of Christabelle. "You want to hurt him here that costs extra, enough to cover for the removal of stains plus a little so we can make a profit. You have to keep it down though, voices carry in these old tunnels and we have guests for a change."

"Alright," an unfamiliar foe retorted, "I'll pay."

"Upfront," she replied sternly.

"Your prince demands a lot of coin," the voice snarled, "is he broke?"

"Not your concern, just pay, you got more gold?"

"Yes but I want him to talk."

"You can take the gag off, it was only because he wouldn't stop singing. Twenty pieces then."

"Robbery," he answered in an appalled voice.

We listened as the jingle of coin followed before the loud clack of Christabelle's feet walking off. We waited in silence, anticipating what would follow next. I felt like a spy and wondered when we should blunder forth to hear the potential villain spill the entirety of their plan for us.

"Well Domenico we finally caught up to you," the unknown male sneered.

There was the sound of spitting and then an answering slap. I tensed, this was turning into a telenova, would we soon hear excitable cries in Spanish?

"Don't worry, I brought my tools." The sound of a zip opening and then noises I could not decipher followed.

"You're just a minion," a male's voice, thick with an Italian accent, answered, "I ain't talking to you."

"Scream to me then."

I tensed at those words and shrank back into Kent finding him just as stoic as me. Together we were statue like as there was a wretched thudding sound accompanied by a squelching with painful, restrained grunts and gasps. The sounds continued, all equally horrid and mysterious and accompanied by grunts that turned into yelps and curses.

"Enough of this," Romero grumbled in a low voice.

"I agree, let's go back upstairs," Sebastian said in a voice that sounded tired rather than concerned.

"That isn't what I meant," Romero retorted. He tugged out a handgun. It wasn't the same as his still unreplaced shotgun but he was a master marksman, for him any gun would do.

Kent sighed dramatically as he pulled out his own pair of pistols. "How do you always find trouble Ariadne?" he complained.

I pulled out a dagger whilst Yukie brandished her sword. "I don't, I swear, sometimes I think someone is framing me," I protested.

"Insane," Sebastian scolded us.

I smiled at the blonde and nodded. "Intrigued too, do you think our foe has muffins?"

He looked back at me in both disgust and disbelief, uncertain how he should answer my question or if he should bother attempting an answer at all.

Kent led the way, or rather he abandoned us for the goalposts, taking off in a blur. "Fuck!" We heard his cry of horror before we even started running.

When we reached the end of the tunnel, which ended in a barred gate that Kent had forced inwards to a prison, we didn't find Kent in battle as expected. Kent was back against a wall, eyes wide as he trembled and clutched his hair with both hands whilst muttering over and over, "no, no, no, no more fucking Tzimisce, no, no, no, no."

I looked to the Tzimisce in question, unfamiliar but just as ugly as the rest of its kin. It towered at over seven feet tall, grey skinned and yellowed eyed, a marvellous monster wearing an open, khaki shirt with matching ripped trousers and little else. Its exposed skin, which was decorated with various studs and hoops, was soaked in fresh blood. In one clawed hand it held a whip that ended in three jagged, metal tipped strips, and in its other hand was a thin, cylindrical, glass tube, hollow with a sharpened end.

I looked to the Tzimisce's victim, a blood soaked Kindred in chains with three of the cylindrical items sticking out of his exposed torso, pouring thick droplets of blood from him into a waiting bowl. Blood science, the Tremere cried magic, the Tzimisce cried science, somehow one was learning whilst the other was torturing and yet they all had the cheek to call our clan the mad one.

I blinked back at the Tzimisce just in time to see the whip coming for me. It was about me tearing flesh from my face before I could react. I screamed as my eyes filled with blood as strips of skin and hair were torn away from me with the blow. Then the flesh melding starting, the Tzimisce was fast.

I jumped away, screaming and crying as I caught flashbacks of all their kind had already done to me. Like Kent I wanted no more of it!

I heard Yukie let out a brave cry before I pushed the blood from my face to see her charge. She ducked and tumbled forward in a somersault to avoid the whip. Within striking distance she rose to stab out at his torso with her sword but the blade just swiped straight through the flesh like butter leaving no wound. Yukie was then soaked by a sphere of blood as the Tzimisce retaliated.

"Can't cut it," Kent stammered, "can't kill the fuckers, can't ever kill them."

BANG! Romero shot at it with success. He showed no fear unlike Kent and I.

The Tzimisce looked down at the bullet portruding from its torso with interest before grinning. I watched in horror at the bullet popped out and went whizzing back to Romero. He tried to dodge and let out a yell of pain as the bullet caught him in his right arm. It grazed him mercifully but the blow still burned and bled.

I tried my disciplines but I was rusty, it had been too long and all I could muster was some attempt at hallucinations. The Tzimisce avoided it with ease and once again dealt me a blow with its whip. This time the jagged edges tore through my shirt to my stomach and drew fresh lines of blood there.

"Enough!" Kent snapped as he composed himself. He moved quickly, facing our foe with a snarl and using the full force of his presence to ensure the Tzimisce looked at him and only him.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Kent showered the Tzimisce in bullets causing it to stagger back with an angry hiss. It was no weak foe however and its retaliation cut right to Kent's core.

I watched in horror as Kent was showered in blood, painless to the body but to the Toreador obsessed with appearance mind it was an agony. Kent screeched and immediately starting trying to wipe himself clean of the bloodstains.

The Tzimisce gave an ugly smile as it glowered at Kent, heaving as it expelled bullets from its now wounded body slowly. They hit the floor with sudden metallic clangs but the wounds they left remained.

"Stop!" Sebastian's voice called out, firm and loud as he glared at the Tzimisce. "This is tiresome watching you prance around. Stay still." The Domination in his voice was impossible to resist, even I found it hard not to obey and it was not directed at me. He moved past the prisoner, snatched out a glass rod causing a scream of pain, and drove it without warning through the Tzimisce's throat.

The Tzimisce gargled as its head jerked back with the blow and it dropped the other rod to try and grasp at the one embedded in it.

"Sword," Sebastian commanded as he held out a hand. He used domination in his voice again, willing Yukie to him. She handed the weapon over without hesitation. He swung it hard and fast, severing the head from the Tzimisce with a surprising ease and turning it to embers and ash. He winced as the ashes smudged his skin and clothes. "Ugh, disgusting thing," he complained as he handed the sword back to Yukie.

"How the fuck did you do that so easy?" Romero demanded. He was clutching his bleeding arm with a scowl, looking annoyed rather than hurt.

Sebastian looked at him coldly as if he were a bug to be squashed. "I was in Napoleon's army you know," he bragged, "and one doesn't just get handled the title of prince, one has to earn it."

"Mary, mother and Joseph I don't owe my life to a God damn Camarilla do I?" our ungrateful prisoner moaned.

I looked to Kent as Sebastian moved to him. "It's done now poet," he said in a dismissive voice, "you can stop twitching."

"You've never suffered them," Kent hissed at him hatefully as he continued to wipe frantically at the blood, groaning as he only seemed to smear it further into his clothes. "You don't know what they can do, how bad it can get. Fuck I'm so unclean," he complained, "damn bastards, unclean again, fuck I wish I could shake it, I do but I swear I'd rather step in the sun than suffer them again."

I stepped over to Kent and reached out a hand to his right, spreading my fingers about his and steadying his hand. "I know big brother Kent," I reminded him quietly.

Kent grimaced as he nodded at me. "Yeah you do, fuck Malk I wish you didn't, I'd have spared you that, you and Abbey, shit I suffered to try and spare you both but it didn't matter, we all suffered."

I squeezed his hand gently. "We suffer and share together Kent, always together now, apart was no fun."

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a moment before nodding again. "Right, you're right, you left and it sucked, that's how you'd feel if I took a morning stroll, right?"

I nodded. "Yes, so you can't, only midnight strolls, maybe some in the sand, got to build some more castles, Charlie is only dead in the head."

"Charlie?" Romero echoed in confusion.

I shuddered at the name.

"Is anyone going to help me?" the prisoner demanded rudely. "Hey how's it going?" he quipped as Yukie peered at him inquisitively, apparently being soaked in blood didn't bother her. "Are you old enough to be viewing this?"

"Hai, I'm one and twenty."

"No way!" I exclaimed.

"Well one and twenty, I'm Dominic and I'd very much like it if someone cut me loose," the prisoner retorted. He winced. "Yeah, get these rods out too, shit I'm bleeding everywhere."

"Why should we help you?" Sebastian demanded as he folded his arms and glared at the vampire. "We don't know why you're here in the first place."

"Nice, I don't know that about you either and hey, I've gathered you're Camarilla but I'm not holding that against you."

"Actually only he is," Kent snapped as he composed himself. He moved hand in hand with me to the shackled man. His grip was firm and unwavering, his fears forgotten again. "The rest of us are Anarchs."

"Well fucking great," Dominic answered jovially, "I don't give a shit, I just want out of here."

"And what are you?" Sebastian quipped coldly as stood on my left and he flicked a scrap of ash off his right shoulder in my direction. "Giovanni I presume?"

I watched with intrigue as the ash fluttering about slowly in the air.

"How racist," Dominic scorned, "sure all the Italian vampires have to be Giovanni, couldn't be I'm a Brujah or Gangrel? You know not every Italian Kindred is Giovanni and not every Giovanni is Italian."

"Pity," I pouted as I frowned at me, "a Giovanni could raise a mummy for me." I turned from Dominic with dismay.

"Can we get out of here before some other yōkai comes?" Yukie queried wearily.

I looked past Kent to marvel at her youthful face. "It's the pigtails," I decided, "they make you look young."

She grinned at me. "Yōkai don't expect much from children."

"Anyway," Dominic interrupted loudly, "if you aren't going to let me go out of the goodness of your heart what if say I can raise a mummy for you?"

I whirled round to him and clapped my hands excitedly with a smile.

"That would make you a Giovanni then," Sebastian remarked coldly.

"Fine, fine," Dominic scorned, "I'm a fucking Giovanni, Domenico Giovanni, banned from his highness' domain all because of my name."

"Is that why you're in chains?" Kent queried curiously.

"It's why he didn't quibble about trading me off anyway," Dominic grumbled, "that and the clanless one is broke, funny how he forgets his morals when coin is involved." He paused and looked at us sharply with large eyes dark and foreboding like the hollows of a tree. "Here I rant on and you're in his citadel, you're probably friends of his right?"

"I wouldn't call anyone who deals with Tzimisce scum a friend," Kent snarled.

"Then why are you here?" Dominic pried.

"Why are you?" Sebastian retorted frostily.

"Is there a possibility of us leaving this place?" Romero quipped sardonically. "You know before someone finds us down here or the others come looking for us."

"The busty tomb raider might return," I mused.

"Who, Lara Croft?" Kent queried dubiously.

Dominic snickered. "You mean that bitch Christabelle, yeah his highness' loyal model, does anything for gold that one, I swear that's where his coin is draining too, she loves gold, like really loves it, fucked up Toreadors always overloving things."

"It's called passion," Kent snapped defensively.

Dominic looked at him and laughed. "Ah that's what you got cranky with the blood shower, you're a Toreador." His dark gaze darted over to Sebastian. "And a haughty blonde, you must be a Ventrue."

"Oh, oh, guess what I am Sherlock!" I exclaimed happily. "I like the detective games."

"Too easy," Dominic sneered, "you're a Malkavian. Probably the least favourite clan of my L.A kin right now, it was one of you helped take down the place or so I'm told."

"The burned child did it," I pouted. I huffed and glanced up at Kent. "See I am framed, always framed!" I gestured one hand to LaCroix accusingly. "He made me go."

"Wait, wait, wait," Dominic said excitedly with another grin. "Are you the Malkavian? Shit no way!" He burst into laughter before wincing and cursing as the movement caused the crude glass tubes to jiggle inside him and produce more blood droplets. "Damn good to see Bruno so weak, always hated that prick. Anyway, please, free me and I'll help out with the mummy thing."

I broke free from Kent and immediately reached for a glass tube. With some squeals and grunts I yanked them all out. The chains were another matter.

Romero sighed. "Are we really doing this?" he queried scornfully. "What are you going to do, hide him under the bed? And how is he going to feed? Don't you Italian types have a sharp bite?"

Dominic nodded. "Yep, probably best if you just help me get the hell out of this citadel."

"And then we never see you again, your debt remains unfulfilled and we have the potential wrath of the caitiff to deal with after?" Sebastian surmised sardonically.

"Well you could trust me to return and help you guys once you come out of the citadel," Dominic suggested. "I'm nice like that."

"I'm sure," Sebastian sneered.

"Don't you have your affairs to be getting on with?" Kent pried.

"Yes but my family taught me to always repay a favour," Dominic said confidently.

"What's the truth Giovanni?" Sebastian pried in a cold voice. "Do you need numbers to help you? Wary you will only get caught again or maybe you hope you can use us as a distraction should trouble befall you again."

Dominic frowned. "You know I have domination too, right? Clan trait, I might be weak and thirsty but that's not enough to fall under your control."

I was surprised at this and glanced up at Sebastian suspiciously, I hadn't even noticed his domineering attempts.

"How about we just leave you here and save ourselves any trouble?" Sebastian suggested curtly.

"I agree," Romero remarked tiredly. Seeing mine and Kent's curious stares he shrugged. "What? Can't my opinion occasionally coincide with the stuck up asshole's?"

Dominic jangled his chains impatiently. "What do I have to say here? I mean he said it, my clan have a terrifically painful bite and I do need to drink, got a lot of blood to replenish here so you can't want me to stay with you after you free me, even in good faith, I'd only fuck up and frenzy. You can't have gone to all the trouble of dusting that ugly guy just to abandon me, it's not nice and that redhead, she doesn't let me sing, she's a mean bitch. Look, you let me go from here, help me sneak out while the guards' gazes are diverted, I'll go feed and linger nearby until you come out if you want a favour repaid."

Kent frowned. "Not many ways around it, we ask his business he'll only lie."

"Just let him go," Yukie said, "undo his chains, leaving him here is cruel, even for a mobster."

"Mobster?" Dominic sneered with an incredulous look as Kent chuckled. "That is an unfair stereotype! I only had a couple of marks against my name in life you know and it wasn't for some whack job or hit or nothing like that, mobster indeed!"

"You're not like Bruno," I mused.

"Thank fuck for that."

"Look if you're letting him go I'll undo the locks," Romero offered, "but hurry up and decide."

"I want a mummy," I decided, "so set him free zombie shooter."

Romero stepped forward without waiting for Kent or Sebastian to say anything. He produced a lockpick and got to work on the cuffs.

Once freed, Dominic shrugged off his bonds and stretched out his worn limbs before extending his right hand to the grave guardian. Romero accepted it and they shook before Dominic turned his attention to me. "Alright, lead the way out then."

We headed back down the corridor and up the steps, returning to our room just as Beckett, Isaac and the others did. They were minus Ash and V.V who had hopefully gone to their quarters. Seeing us stumble up from a secret tunnel with a stranger in tow, they didn't look as curious as I'd hoped, they just looked annoyed.

"Who wants to explain?" Isaac queried testily as he folded his arms and frowned like a disappointed father.

I rushed forward to my Baron, skipping and clapping my hands with glee. "Isaac, Isaac he can get me a mummy!" I exclaimed happily.

"Get you?" Dominic remarked in protest. "Wait a sec, I said I'd raise one for you I didn't say I'd just give you one, what do you want a pet one?"

As I grasped Isaac's arms I paused and looked back to Dominic with glee and surprise. "Oh my gosh yes! A pet mummy! I'll walk it every day, I promise!"

"Kid no," Kent said flatly as he tugged off his soiled shirt and threw it in a bin of gold mesh, "you are no good with pets, how many times!" He placed his guns and a lighter down on a table and tugged off his trousers as well, apparently not caring for his audience.

"Toreador do you think we all wish to see you naked?" Strauss queried dryly.

Kent had spotted a spot on his boxers and calmly discarded them to the bin as well. Kent ignored the blood wizard and plucked up the lighter before snatching a tissue out of a waiting box. He lit the tissue and dropped it into the bin before giving a satisfied sigh. "I'm away to get washed," he announced, "then I'm going to sleep and hopefully when I wake up none of this shit will have occurred."

"And what has occurred?" Isaac demanded in a disapproving voice as he grasped my arms lightly in his hands. Perhaps the baron sensed I wanted to see if a phoenix was going to rise from the bin and the ashes of Kent's garments.

"Ask Romero, it's all his fault," Kent retorted calmly before disappearing behind the bathroom door.

"Wait a sec," Romero flustered, "it's not my fault! How am I supposed to explain this?" he snapped angrily. "I keep getting dragged into these things."

I giggled before turning a smile up at Isaac. "I found the trap door," I confessed, "and hoped for pharaoh's treasure but only a mutilating vampire and a child of fair Italia."

"I'm from New York," Dominic grumbled sullenly. "I know, I know, got the accent, I was raised in Sicily but I was still born in New York so I'm an American."

"A Giovanni," Beckett murmured.

"A mafia monster," Anatole marvelled with a smirk.

"Yeah and you're a crazy bloodsucker," Dominic retorted defensively. "Hmm wearing a cross, a Bible basher too huh, yeah stereotyping hurts don't it?" he snarled as Anatole's smirk vanished for a scowl.

"I'm more concerned about the mutilating vampire," Isaac said seriously, "does that mean Tzimisce?"

I tensed in his grasp and nodded solemnly. "Just one, Sebastian beheaded it."

"Why Sebastian I didn't know you could fight," Strauss remarked tauntingly, "I wonder how you even had a weapon."

"He took Yukie's," I explained, "but he returned it, don't worry, just borrowing."

"I feel this is all raising more questions than answers and the sun comes within the hour," Beckett commented dryly.

"Really?" Dominic remarked as he suddenly look worried. "Shit." He was looking gaunt, pale even for our kind and his wounds were still bleeding, though the blood loss was slowing.

"Problem?" Aristotle asked.

"Yeah, a few, the burning sun, my ever growing thirst thanks to that fuck downstairs, um my status as a social pariah in this place."

"You need a blood donation," Aristotle purred, "hmm but the bite of the Giovanni is rarely pleasant. Well I did see a charming young maid just moments ago. Do the Giovanni still honour the favour for a favour?"

"Yes," Dominic muttered, "you grant me a boon I owe you something in the future."

Aristotle laughed. "Such a noble notion for such a backstabbing clan. You have not evolved since your ancestors first stabbed their way to dictatorship in Rome."

"Oh sure, my ancestors," Dominic grumbled, "what about you, French is it? Your ancestors know all about killing the monarchy don't they, better than mine."

"The Queen of France she couldn't dance without her pretty head, a terrible blow it wasn't slow before she fell down dead," Aristotle murmured softly.

"The sire rhymes," I remarked, "perhaps you're not entirely hateful."

"And perhaps you'd be more grateful," Aristotle retorted heatedly.

I giggled. "Do it again!" I enthused.

Dominic's gaze darted about us again. "Awful lot of Malkavians here," he murmured dryly, "isn't that a risk?"

"Good number of Toreadors too," Romero pointed out. "Not in this room mind but trust me on that."

Dominic nodded. "Madness and poetry, how apt and just one Ventrue and one Tremere, what a bloody odd bunch. Well, get me the maid and I'll owe you a favour, preferably not another mummy, raising two would be quite draining."

Aristotle moved to obey, slipping out the main door.

"Much as I don't want you frenzying here, why are we helping you again?" Beckett queried sardonically. "Who are you?"

"Domenico Giovanni," he confessed, "and please do not ask which Giovanni I'm connected to, our blood ties are a tangled mess, even I don't know anymore who's an uncle and who's just a third cousin and who married into the family."

"You're a a thief," Beckett commented brightly, "and a skilled cartographer I'm told."

Dominic looked confused and rubbed at his ever reddening eyes wearily with both hands. His upper lip had drawn up and his fangs were exposed, the frenzy was drawing closer. "Shit, blood lust and exhaustion, I would've realised sooner otherwise. Brown hat, glasses, wolf smell, you're Beckett aren't you?"

Beckett nodded calmly in answer.

"Well I'm a treasure hunter actually," Dominic explained, "I just happen to be a big believer in finders keepers, I mean if I go to all the effort of finding and extracting the thing why shouldn't I keep it?"

"Could it be you were a prisoner for more than just being a Giovanni?" Sebastian queried sardonically.

"A prisoner?" Isaac repeated as he looked to the blonde and then the Italian sternly. "Of who, the Tzimisce?"

"Our host first," Sebastian sneered, "his Toreador assistant traded this one to the Tzimisce in exchange for gold."

"How crude," Strauss grumbled, "perhaps something worthy of you Sebastian."

"I never had dealings with Sabbat," Sebastian answered defensively.

"Look, his highness Asshole Bey does not like Giovanni," Dominic explained, "because he's a racist. More than that, he's poor and a businessman, he would trade his own mother for gold. That redheaded hussy of his is probably why he's so broke, she loves gold, she hoards it, collects it in all sorts, bars, ornaments, jewellery, coin, whatever. She traded me over to the Tzimisce on his behalf for gold and not enough of it, I was definitely worth more," he added proudly.

"How do you know what she collects?" Beckett pried.

"I just do."

"How did they find you?" Strauss queried.

"I don't know, how did you end up here? He's the prince ain't he, probably some vampire saw me and told him."

"Shiny, ancient baubles," I mused, "the golden serpent upon pharaoh's princess."

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy," Anatole accused.

"Just a sec, one, not a thief," Dominic said as he gestured to himself with one finger, "two, of course I kill, we've all done that, and three, I don't destroy the things I take, I treasure them."

"The snake sits too tight upon the red crown, it suited the princess' dark hair better," I murmured.

"Oh for fuck sake," Dominic snapped, letting out a snarl of hunger as he did. "Malkavians, you'll just bang on with that insight of yours until I give in, won't you? Fine, fine, I got some information suggesting the crown of Meretseger had become the property of a certain Toreador in this citadel. Such a valuable item isn't just worth its weight in gold, something all that stupid bitch is concerned with, but a hell of a lot more."

"Proving the existence of Meretseger for example?" Beckett piped up in his usual sceptical, sardonic manner.

"Right," Dominic enthused, "something someone would pay a lot of money for."

"So essentially," Strauss surmised, "while we were at dinner making parley with the prince you lot were setting free a prisoner who tried to rob him."

"Bingo," I answered happily.

The door opened and my sire ushered in a giggling maiden of bronze skin, olive eyes and ebony hair. She was young and pretty, a terrible waste. Dominic barely gave Aristotle time to shut the door before he pounced.

I watched in silent intrigue as Dominic tore her apart like a lion feeding on a zebra. It was messy and Aristotle's hysteria wore off almost immediately with her pain. Dominic pushed her head close to his lips and snarled in a voice deep and devilish, "be silent." The poor girl obeyed, struck dumb by dominance as the vampire tore at her painfully.

It was akin to Pisha's feedings, Dominic tore and savoured strips of flesh as she did but he was not greedy, he did not want the body, only the blood but nor was he wasteful, he would not squander the flesh he had to get past to get at the blood.

Pisha, the spider, a harmless house spider to the tarantula on my web. He hummed close, back where he belonged and yet not quite, he was still tied to this one.

"We need to sleep," Isaac instructed as the maiden died.

"And what do we do with her and him?" Romero quipped.

"Hide them both," Isaac answered wearily, "there is not much else for it."

"We will be lucky not to get staked in our sleep," Sebastian grumbled.

"Given how you reigned that is not a new hazard for you," Strauss retorted sharply.

"Always bickering," Anatole complained, "it is why we only have one king, the true king and one God, the true God, not the many princes and gods."

"Let us retire for the day then," Beckett remarked calmly.

* * *

 _Because the Giovanni are awesome :-) Seriously, I love gangsters and the Mafia- gangster vampires, just perfect. They also don't get a lot of love. A dialogue heavy chapter I know but I had fun writing it._


	21. Chapter 20- Toreador's Hoard

"What. The. Fuck."

I awoke intrigued at Kent's voice, pulling myself upright by gripping his shoulder prompting him to turn and face me with a start. "Evening Kent," I greeted chirpily.

"What are you doing here?" he exclaimed with surprise. Here was the double bed Kent had picked for himself, little concerned with where anyone else might slumber. The prince of Cairo didn't do coffins or sarcophagi, only beds, a modern comfort as he described them. Spare beds were in short supply or so he claimed, I figured he had them stacked high to the ceiling to keep him safe from mummies.

I grinned back at Kent and said sincerely as I kept a tight grasp on his arm, "couldn't have you going for daytime walks without me."

His expression softened slightly and he shook his head. "Malk I wouldn't do that," he retorted seriously, "nor do I want staked by Isaac over some misunderstanding here."

"We are both dressed and I advised the Baron of my intentions," I informed him happily, "and assured him the bond is familial and you have qualms over two men anyway and attractions to many, many women."

"Jesus kid," he began a curse before a loud moan drew our attention back to what had disturbed Kent in the first place.

It lumbered awkwardly in the shadows, a clumsy human form that dared to give me hope. Another groan and then it shambled into the glow of the candlelight. I wondered who had switched off the lights and lit the candles.

"OHMYGOSH MUMMY!" I trilled happily as I released Kent and moved to jump off the bed. I winced as I was grabbed suddenly and unexpectedly from behind and hit the bed with a whoomp as two arms wrapped around my legs tightly.

The mummy let out another groan before twisting about in confusion. It was female, skin a greying-brown, white dress smeared in darkened bloodstains and bandages loose, sloppy and lacking.

The mummy stumbled blind to the world before its foot caught on a stray strand of bandage and it tripped and fell with another moan.

"Aw shit," Dominic's voice called out from the shadows.

The bathroom door opened spilling light into the room and illuminating Dominic and the mummy who continued to moan. There was a click as Romero withdrew his gun and undid the safety.

"Halfway around the world and I'm still getting bugged by zombies," he lamented.

"No!" I protested. "It's a mummy and it's mine!"

"Did you use toilet paper?" Kent demanded. "Seriously, is that toilet paper?" I felt him recoil and took my chance to wriggle free from his grasp.

I crawled off the bed hoping to hit the floor but instead I hit Yukie who had been slumbering peacefully in a nest of blankets and cushions. She awoke with a startled cry and gave me a sharp punch in the face before pushing me off hard and putting a dagger against my throat.

"Evening," I said with a smile.

"Oh it's you," Yukie murmured wearily as she withdrew the sword. "Gomen, I thought you were youkai." She sheathed the sword with ease and pushed back her messy strands of glossy, black hair. With her hair free to spill about her shoulders and donning a tight fitting, flattering, white gossamer night dress she appeared older and prettier. I eyed the blue vein at her neck hungrily.

"What is that?" she quipped tiredly as she glanced past me. "Is that...toilet roll?"

"Well that explains all those empty rolls in there," Romero remarked dryly, "I wondered if someone had shit themselves."

"Who exactly?" Kent quipped sardonically. "Only you and Yukie are capable."

Romero shrugged. "Chinese food doesn't always agree with people."

"I thought she was Japanese," Dominic piped up.

"She worked at a Chinese takeaway, now who's stereotyping?" Kent queried with a wilting stare. "Just because she's Japanese means she can't eat Chinese food, is that it?"

"Chinese takeaway in an Egyptian palace," Yukie commented sardonically, "what an idiot idea."

"Idiotic," Kent couldn't resist a correction. "Also, this is a citadel."

I ignored them and resumed my gaze on the mummy. I stood up and dusted myself down.

"Kid don't go near that thing," Kent warned.

"But it's my mummy," I said with a pout.

"That is not a mummy," Kent snapped.

"Hey," Dominic protested with a defensive look, "I didn't get a whole lot of time with this you know. She wanted a mummy, not my fault they're not what she thinks, I'm just trying to make the Malkavian smile."

"You're a cheat," Kent accused. "What is that anyway? Shit is that the maid?"

"Want not waste not, wasn't like the body was doing much else," Dominic answered carelessly. He waved his hands and gave a clap. The mummy pushed itself to its feet.

"My mummy," I said sternly.

"Kid look at it, the bandages aren't old looking, are they?" Kent commented. "Thin too, it's fucking toilet paper."

"Closest you're going to get to her idea of a mummy," Dominic remarked as he folded his arms, "take it or leave it Malkavian, what is your name anyway?"

I looked from the mummy to Dominic. "Ariadne," I retorted quietly.

"Hmm well here's the thing Ari, mummies aren't like Hollywood, I raise a dead Egyptian it's via re-animation of the corpse, it's a zombie and they decay pretty quick, how about I summon a wraith for you instead? Not quite the same thing but you tell me what you want it to do and I can make it happen."

"How about you stop playing with the dead?" Kent suggested bitingly. "It's cruel and more importantly that woman is already starting to stink, she needs to be removed."

"Priorities Kent," Romero chided quietly.

"All dead dance on another's string," I murmured.

There was a knock on the door prompting us all to look at it.

"Open this door please," Isaac's voice called out.

Romero moved to the door obediently, pulling back the deadbolt, unlocking and opening it. "Before you ask I had nothing to do with it," he said swiftly as he stepped back.

Isaac, dressed and without a hair out of place, stepped into the room followed by a fed up looking Sebastian and Strauss.

"We were considering an early departure to find breakfast," Isaac murmured coolly, "but first a subtle removing of your new companion. Alas," he added sardonically, "I can see subtle has flown out of the window and burned up in the sun like Icarus."

"Is that toilet roll?" Strauss queried in disgust.

"Yes it's fucking toilet roll," Dominic snapped in annoyance, "I improvised, okay? I didn't have a lot of time with this."

"It shows," Kent chided.

"Sorry it doesn't meet the Toreador standards," the Giovanni snarled. "I wasn't doing it for an art contest!"

"Less shouting unless you want our host to become aware of your newfound freedom," Isaac chided him.

Dominic shrugged. "I just wanted to repay the debt, here's the mummy, now I've got a crown to pilfer."

"Still on that then," Strauss retorted in a droll voice. "Presumably after we leave you to do that you'll only get caught again."

"Can't we help?" I queried hopefully. "The key to our mystery could be with the serpent as the map was."

"Sometimes it's hard to tell if you're using genuine insight or manipulation," Sebastian commented coldly.

"What map?" Dominic queried with a sparkle eyed interest.

"None of your concern," Strauss was quick to answer.

"But he hunts treasure," I protested, "and what greater treasure is there than the ruby droplets in the ancient dead? And all the shiny trinkets they must be buried with."

"Anything else you'd like to confess to the Giovanni?" Kent quipped sarcastically.

"Ruby droplets of the ancient dead," Dominic murmured curiously, "what are you folks up to?"

"Folks?" Kent and Sebastian quipped with equal disgust. They shared a brief glance before turning away from each other swiftly. Sebastian frowned whilst Kent weaved his right hand through his hair awkwardly.

"Well it explains why Beckett's about," he murmured, "course he's looking for something big."

"Let's not talk powerful blood with a Giovanni of all things," Strauss said with a measure of cool disgust.

Kent coughed theatrically, muttering the word, "hypocrite," as he did.

"Oh, oh," I piped up excitedly as I got it, "two clans of diablerie, it is like Snap with clans, a match!"

"Isaac are we ready?" V.V queried as she entered the room followed by the ever fed-up looking Ash.

"Well a very good evening to you," Dominic spoke up brightly. He hastened forward, smoothing down his open bloodstained shirt and taking care to make sure his now healed torso was on display. "Vampires talking of trinkets and hoards and yet they keep their best looking treasure out of sight," he remarked cheerfully.

"Well that's a line," Romero mocked.

"Isaac you really should be making money from her," Sebastian sneered.

"She does make money, she has a club," Kent grumbled. He was still flustering with his hair.

Beckett, Anatole and Aristotle joined us, sharing V.V's desire to go. "Why is the dead maid dressed in toilet roll?" Beckett queried in a dry voice.

"Oh is that a riddle?" I pondered curiously. "Why is the dead maid dressed in toilet roll? Why do the dead listen? Why is the key a crown?"

"Ari wanted a mummy," Dominic answered brightly, "and this was the best I could do on short notice. Since it's not great and I owe her I'll offer some consolidation, help me get my crown Ari and you can take a treasure for yourself."

"I hope you don't cheat on my boon," Aristotle remarked icily. "Do you desire my childe for her aid or as a distraction?"

Dominic shrugged. "Whatever way she wants to play it is good with me."

"No," Isaac said sternly.

"Isaac!" I pouted. "I want a crown." I looked up at him pleadingly. "You're always saying I'm your princess," I pouted, "but how can I be without a crown?"

"Um are they together?" Dominic quipped. "Cause he seems pretty fucking old."

Isaac frowned down at me as his amber eyes gleamed with displeasure.

Beckett stepped up to us and said in a low voice, "he's a cartographer and we have a rather complicated map, I wouldn't suggest linking the two but the presence of Tzimisce can only mean one thing, Sascha is close by."

I shuddered at the name and looked up to Isaac fearfully. "We could wander the desert for years without the Giovanni guidance."

Isaac's frown deepened as he looked to Beckett. "Don't you consider this an odd coincidence?"

"Yes," Beckett admitted, "but one I am willing to overlook given our desperate circumstances. He is one, we are many and for a just reward one does sometimes have to take questionable measures."

"Very well," Isaac permitted. He raised his voice and remarked, "we will help you Giovanni but you will help us too."

"Surely not all of us," Strauss interrupted, "we would be caught with so many numbers and I would prefer to leave this citadel on good terms."

"I agree," V.V mused, "and I am thirsty and the prince did promise something sweet for breakfast. May I suggest Isaac that we provide the necessary cover? Most of us go to breakfast with the prince, those that do not we shall say are with the ghouls."

"Great," Romero grumbled sardonically, "so we get the joys of joining the thief because we don't have fangs."

"It's a good plan," Dominic enthused chirpily, "a genius plan even, not just a pretty face then?"

V.V gave him a wide smile. "I just don't want my family perishing for your stupidity," she answered sweetly.

"Aww I didn't know we were family," I remarked as I grinned over at her.

"Not you," she retorted hotly, "Isaac and Ash."

"Don't worry about me," Kent grumbled.

"I agree, it is a good plan," Aristotle commented, "well for a female Toreador anyway. Now, who is helping the Giovanni?"

* * *

"Malk stop humming," Kent snarled, "you too mob boy, you're only encouraging."

I ceased with my humming of the Mission Impossible theme tune and frowned at Kent's back. We were almost at the treasure or so Aristotle and Dominic seemed to think. Dominic followed telltale loose bricks in the wall that offered up hidden passageways whilst Aristotle obeyed the fairies in his head. Or was it leprechauns? Probably the little men in green, they knew more about treasure.

We consisted of Dominic, Kent, myselves, Aristotle, a reluctant Romero, and a curious Yukie. I had nicknamed us The Gold Grabbing Gang but Kent, whilst he had grudgingly praised the alliteration, had vetoed it as 'stupid' and 'too obvious'. After my maid mummy had been made to collapse back to a state of stiff undead I had accepted Dominic's offer of treasure as compensation.

Dominic was still humming the Mission Impossible theme, feeling no desire to obey Kent as he crept along the shadows of a narrow staircase full of dust and spiderwebs that he hoped led up to the tower of the citadel Christabelle hid her treasure in.

"How exactly did you get caught?" Romero pried in a low voice.

"Not in this stairwell if that's what you're afraid of," Dominic retorted chirpily.

"That's not an answer," Romero pointed out stonily.

"Got snatched up by the citadel guards before I even made it to the place, it was a racist arrest plain and simple."

"This word racist, I don't think you are using it right," Yukie remarked innocently.

We all glanced back at her curiously and Kent snickered. "Damn Yukie was that a joke?" he marvelled. "She's got your number."

Dominic sighed before fidgeting with the bricks to the right. "Abra," he said as he pushed one twice, "kadabra," he continued as he pushed another three times, "alakazam," he finished as he pushed another once.

"Ooh magic!" I enthused as I clapped my hands and the wall shuddered. "Or Pokémon, either way I'm happy."

"Good be happy in silence," Kent chided me.

"I agree," Aristotle commented coldly.

The wall quivered, shaking off dust as it moved inwards, shifting back to reveal a room.

"Well all that glitters," Romero commented dryly.

I went to skip into the room but was quickly restrained by Kent.

"I don't sense any wards," Aristotle remarked condescendingly, "but then one wouldn't expect a Toreador to know any."

"And a Malkavian does?" Kent snapped.

"Let's not start a Clan debate now," Romero interrupted. "Besides, Indiana Jones there has already proved there's no alarm system." He gestured ahead with one hand to Dominic who was already in the cosy chamber of treasures nosing. "By the way Aristotle this is the modern day and age, she might have cameras or sensors."

"She does," Dominic piped up cheerfully. He was looking up at a small black orb with a grin and waving at it.

"For fuck sake," Kent exclaimed, "we need to retreat."

"Soon as I get my crown," Dominic murmured.

"Yukie what are you doing?!" Kent shouted.

Yukie had slipped past the others into the room. She reached out to an ornate looking sword case and removed the blade to inspect it with glee. "Well if he's taking anyway we should all hmm...rieki, you know rieki um...we should...rieki, gomenasai." She shook her head in frustration. "We should take too because he is anyway," she snapped as she placed the sword back in its golden and jewelled case.

I scurried in with an agreeable nod. "He takes we're in trouble anyway," I enthused, "so we should all take."

The room consisted of a plush queen sized bed with gold silk bedsheets and cushions and a curtain of pale gold gossamer currently open, a wardrobe carved of pale ornate wood that was a natural shade of honey, a table made of a solid gold kneeling ram with a glass top, no windows and a shit ton of treasure. Even the walls were painted gold and the floor, what I could see of it, was a pale golden wooden. I hunted through trinkets and jewellery, tossing aside rings, bangles, boxes and ornaments looking for a crown.

"Got it," I announced happily. I tugged out a circlet of gold with an angry looking serpent at its centre, reared and hissing. There were red and blue stones engraved in it and gold beading dangling from it but I no longer desired it, the serpent was frightened, mouth open and fangs ready to strike. "I want a different one," I protested as I tossed it aside.

"Good," Dominic remarked as he caught it before it hit the crown. He placed it on his head, turned up to the camera and gave it the finger. "Got your crown bitch," he said happily.

I plucked up another, a little more tarnished, it was ebony with gold outlining, a dog mask with pointed ears, the ears were painted gold and the eye sockets and just above the nose were highlighted with gold. I put it on with delight and turned back to the others. "Woof," I called out, "woof, woof Kent I'm a doggie."

"You're an idiot," he scorned, "now come on. Romero I think your pockets are quite full."

I looked over to the graveyard who had come into the outskirts of the room to pilfer coins and a couple of gold bars. He shrugged. "It's the Giovanni who's going to get the blame for it all anyway and think what kind of wom...er wonderful things I can get with it," he finished lamely as he rubbed the back of his head and glanced from me to Yukie awkwardly.

"You are as translucent as a jellyfish," Aristotle scolded him.

"Well that one stung," Romero retorted sarcastically. He started to move and then paused with a sigh. "Shit, these bars are too heavy for running with." He unloaded the bars again and kept walking.

I followed after Romero with Yukie and Dominic close behind.

"Perhaps we could use haste now?" Aristotle suggested sharply.

"Well the Toreador could," Dominic responded sarcastically.

"Aren't you going to close the door?" Aristotle demanded.

"Is there any point?" Dominic retorted hotly. "Come on madman, less chat more escaping."

"I hope you know a way out of here," Kent grumbled, "and I hope our friends have finished breakfast, so much for subtly."

"Just keep going," Dominic suggested, "I'll get us back to the rooms where your friends should be."

Dominic was as good as his word and had us back to the rooms as Isaac and the others returned.

"Oh good," Ash remarked mockingly, "you're dressed as a bitch."

"Are female jackals called bitches?" Romero pondered.

"Wolf," Beckett corrected in his usual dry manner, "recent evidence suggests the jackals of Egypt are actually wolves. At any rate, you all look more alarmed than successful," he raised his dark eyebrows and queried, "is there something you need to share?"

"There were watchful eyes," Aristotle commented loudly as he strode forward and away from us, "and the necromancer made sure they saw him."

"Watchful eyes," Sebastian mused, "does that mean cameras?"

"Yes it does, the Giovanni is an asshole, he got the crown and showed it off, we really need to go."

"Back to the dungeons?" I suggested with a glance at the hidden doorway I had found.

"Correct," Dominic retorted, "there's a way out down there, I can find it."

"How convenient," Sebastian sneered. "You have trust issues with me but this thief, a member of a clan well known for exploiting zombies, draining the blood of other vampires for power and fighting amongst itself as well as other base acts I will not go into, him you trust?"

"No," Strauss answered coolly.

"He is a cartographer," Beckett reminded us, "I would say, confidently, that he memorised a plan of this citadel before he chose to invade it for that crown, which does look authentic but has nothing to suggest it belonged to Meretseger by the way," he added with a nod in Dominic's direction."

"Fucking scholar," Dominic grumbled, "yeah I got the blueprints of this place but they were old, been a few renovations since then, still you got time to debate it?"

"No," Isaac answered firmly. "We need to go." He gestured to the passageway I had found.

"Fleeing like rats from a sinking ship but I am called the coward," Sebastian commented airily.

"We could leave you for a scapegoat," Strauss suggested with a glare.

Sebastian grinned in retort. "That would be beneath you," he said quickly.

"Move already," Dominic snapped as he waved us over to the passageway.

"How exciting," I enthused, "another tomb raiding adventure!"


End file.
